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LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 




Cosmopolitan Photoplay. Little Old New Yon 

MARION DAVIES. HARRISON FORD. 








Little Old New York 


BY 

RIDA JOHNSON YOUNG 


PROFUSELY ILLUSTRATED 
WITH SCENES FROM THE 
COSMOPOLITAN PHOTOPLAY 
STARRING MARION DAVIES 



» > ) 

» o 


GROSSET & DUNLAP 

PUBLISHERS NEW YORK 


Made in the United State* of America 












Copyright, 1923, by 

Cosmopolitan Book Corporation 




•U'j 

I j 


V 

J 


©Cl A 705778 


LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 


CHAPTER I 

At one of the small tables in the restau¬ 
rant that young Lorenzo Delmonico had 
lately opened two young men sat eating 
oysters and drinking ale. Through the open 
front of the little shop they could look out on 
Bowling Green; in the distance rose the tall 
masts of the ships at the East River docks. 

Young men of fashion were these. They 
had an air. Their clothes were of the best; 
high beaver hats; coats cut by artists; shirts 
and stocks of the finest linen. Any passer¬ 
by could have told you who they were. 
Henry Brevoort, the older was; son of a 
house that had lately, to the amused astonish¬ 
ment of all New York, built a great home up 
Greenwich way, beyond the old Potter’s 

field. And, having his name, you must have 

X 


2 


LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 


been able to tell the rest; even in London 
young Brevoort was known as one who car¬ 
ried his liquor better and played his cards 
harder and more desperately than any man 
of his generation. 

His friend was FitzGreene Halleck, 
richer in family than in worldly goods; 
handsome, popular—and a slave. He was, 
in effect, the secretary of a man beginning 
then to make himself felt as a dominant fac¬ 
tor in the business life of the city—an old 
German fur merchant and trader, John 
Jacob Astor by name, who had a mania for 
buying land, and owned property all along 
Broadway, where it still was—and people 
held would always remain—a country road. 

Halleck drew out his watch and started. 

“We must hurry, Henry,’’ he said. “I 
must be at Larry Delavan’s before old Astor 
gets there or I’ll catch it!’’ 

“Plenty of time—plenty of time,'’* said 
Brevoort. “How much do you suppose 
Larry gets from his stepfather?” 



LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 


3 


“I don’t know,” said Halleck, with a 
shrug of his shoulders. “We’fL find out 
soon enough, though. Everything he had, 
I suppose. Though he may have left a lit¬ 
tle to charity, of course.-’ 

“There were no other relatives?” 

“I never heard of any. Ready V 1 

He turned toward the counter, where Del- 
monico was busy. But he was ready to at¬ 
tend to his patrons. 

“How much?” asked Halleck. 

Delmonico stood, reckoning their bill. 

“Ale—oysters—coffee—and the vegetable 
—fifty cents, gentlemen!” 

“Monstrous!” said Brevoort. “I give 
you my word, Fitz, the man’s a robber!” 

“But, gentlemen—you have no idea how 
the cost of food goes up and up! And wages 
—here’s my apprentice, young Childs, gets a 
whole dollar a week!” 

They laughed as they tossed the money 
down, and went out. Sunlight flooded 
Bowling Green. They looked south to the 



\ LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 

river and the harbor; to the Staten Island 
hills and the low marshes of New Jersey. 
A tall ship, under full sail, was coming in, 
homeward bound from China. Sloops and 
small craft abounded in the harbor; Halleck 
pointed to one sail. 

“There’s Cornelius yanderbilt’s ferry, 
he said. “He makes a good thing of that, 
between the Battery and Staten Island. 
Old Astor thinks a lot of him. ’ ’ 

Brevoort smiled. 

“Beastly thing, work,” he said. “Oblige 
me by not mentioning it. ’ ’ 

“With all my heart! Oblige me by con¬ 
verting old Astor to your views!” 

Larry Delavan’s house w T as before them. 
A pleasant, rambling house it was, that some 
old Dutchman of a century before had built 
for his ease. Beside it was a garden, with 
hollyhocks and larkspur in full bloom, and 
roses in profusion, that ran to the adjoining 
garden of the great Schuyler mansion. 

Delavan himself greeted them in the great 


LITTLE OLD NEW; YORK 5 

living room of the house. He stood before 
a fireplace of noble proportions. In the 
center of the room was a great table on which 
Reilley, Delavan’s old butler, was laying 
out paper, ink and quills. In a chair by 
the table lounged a young man who grasped 
a glass in one hand, while, with the other, 
he waved a languid greeting to the new¬ 
comers. 

This was Washington Irving, wit, good 
liver, and Larry’s closest friend. He 
glanced through the window now, and rose. 

“Here’s old Astor, Larry,” he said. 

A lumbering coach had driven up outside, 
and from it there descended the man in 
whose bundle of papers Larry Delavan’s 
fate was held. He took out his watch as he 
came in, and looked gruffly at Halleck, who 
wilted visibly, losing much of his air of a 
man about town at once. To Brevoort As¬ 
tor gave a cool nod; he did not greatly ap¬ 
prove of that young man. 

Astor took his place at the head of the 


6 LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 


table; waved the young men to seats about 
it. Then, with a maddening deliberation, 
he put on his spectacles, opened up his bun¬ 
dle of papers, and began seeking the one he 
wanted. He found it at last; an envelope, 
carefully sealed. He broke the seals; took 
out the paper within, and began to read it 
over to himself. As he did so his eyes were 
drawn together in a little frown of sur¬ 
prise. 

“Now, gentlemen,” he said at last, “I 
will read my late friend’s last will and testa¬ 
ment.” 

Astor still spoke with a marked German 
accent, thickening his consonants, substitut¬ 
ing v for w, doubling all his s’s. But they 
could understand him—only too well, it 
seemed! He read: 

“I, Richard O’Day, being of sound mind, 
do bequeath my entire estate to Patrick 
O’Day, the son of my brother, who was 
known for some time to reside in Dublin, 
Ireland. ’ ’ 


r 


LITTLE OLD NEW YOKE 

He paused and looked around. Delavan 
was staring, his mouth open, his eyes in¬ 
credulous. Brevoort scowled darkly; Hal- 
leck was dazed; Irving, quicker than the 
others to recover from his surprise, looked 
from one to the other of them, keenly anx¬ 
ious to see how they took the staggering 
news. 

“But—it can’t be—does it really say 
that?” Delavan exclaimed. 

“Would I make of it a joke?” asked As- 
tor, angrily. He held out the will, and 
Larry, reading, fell back as the written 
words confirmed what he had heard. 

“Go on,” he said, at last. “There’s 
more.” 

“And I nominate John Jacob Astor as 
sole executor,” Astor went on, “and my 
stepson, Lawrence Delavan, as sole guardian 
of the said Patrick O’Day, the said Delavan 
to receive one hundred dollars per month for 
his services.” 

Only Delavan’s bitter laugh broke the si- 



8 


LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 


lence of Astor’s pause. Then the reading 
went on: 

“If the said Patrick O’Day be not found 
within one year from the date of my death, 
my entire estate shall revert to my step¬ 
son, the aforementioned Lawrence Dela- 
van.” 

Slowly Astor folded the will, put it back 
into its envelope, and restored that, in turn, 
to its place among his other papers. Larry 
sat still, too overcome to speak. Halleck 
scowled; Brevoort got up and walked up and 
down the room. 

“Well,” said Irving, “I, for one, hope this 
young O’Day will not be found! The 
money’s yours by right, Larry!” 

Astor turned upon him grimly. 

“ A man may do as he will with his own, 
Mr. Irving,” he said. “If Patrick O’Day 
is not found it will not be for lack of trying. 
I shall send word to my London agent by 
the next packet of mine that sails.” 

Yet, even as he spoke so sternly, his eyes 


LITTLE OLD NEW YOKK 


9 


rested upon Larry with something of sym¬ 
pathy. His hand fell on his shoulder. 

“Never mind, my boy,” he said. “You 
have it in you to do great things for yourself. 
No one left me money—and yet I have not 
done so badly. ’’ 

“Never worry about him, Mr. Astor,” 
said Brevoort. “We’ll help him to forget 
his troubles—eh, boys?” 

Astor turned to him with a frown, but 
said nothing. Then, picking up his papers, 
he called to Halleck to follow him, and went 
out. Halleck made to follow him; hesi¬ 
tated ; turned, at the door, with a comic ges¬ 
ture of despair, and cupped his mouth with 
one hand. 

“Later!” he said. “I’ll meet you at the 
Pleasure Gardens in Hoboken after I get 
away—I’ll not be later than eight o’clock!” 

Larry Delavan had slumped into his chair. 
Who could blame him ? That morning for¬ 
tune had smiled upon him. He had be¬ 
lieved himself the heir to a great estate. 



10 LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 


The world had been at his feet. And now— 
he was a beggar! For this pittance that was 
left to him he must play guardian to a hoy 
he had never seen—and a boy, moreover, who 
had taken from him all that for years he 
had regarded as his own! 

‘ 4 Come! ’ ’ said Irving. ‘ ‘ Come, Larry, my 
friend! That stands — friendship — good 
fellowship! Come to the Pleasure Gardens 
now—they brew a punch there strong 
enough to drown the deepest disappoint¬ 
ment!” 

Brevoort slapped him on the back. 

“Irving’s right, Larry,” he said. “It’s a 
bad run of the cards—but, man, the luck 
must turn! Up with you—face it with a 
smile! Bad luck was never made better 
yet by a long face! Show fortune she can’t 
rule you, come she fair or come she foul!” 

Larry sprang up. He held out a hand to 
each of them. 

“ You ’re right!” he said. “Damn wills 
and Irish nephews—but they can’t spoil 




LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 11 


good punch, no matter what they do! I’m 
with you—Reilley, see to the house. I’ll be 
back—when I come back!” 

Reilley watched them go, nodding. There 
was no novelty in that farewell for him. 


CHAPTER II 

• • 

Famine and black poverty stalked side by 
side in Ireland in those days. Fresh still 
were the memories of the red days of ’98; 
green still were the graves that British 
muskets had tilled. There was a tragic 
meaning in the crooning of the Wearing of 
the Green. And happy was the Irish lad 
who had the silver in his pocket to carry him 
across the broad Atlantic to the new land of 
liberty that lay beyond the setting sun. 

Yet, though the blight might lie upon the 
potato and the people starve, though poverty 
like death itself might be abroad, debts must 
be paid—or the law take its course. Behind 
the landlord stood all the power of the Brit¬ 
ish Crown, resolute to see that he should have 
his own. 

As bright a sun as shone upon the house 

12 















LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 13 


in which, in Bowling Green, Richard O’Day 
had lived and prospered and, in the end, 
died, looked down upon a mean, thatched 
cottage in an Irish street. Outside the vil¬ 
lage street was thick in mud; pigs wallowed 
in it; children daubed themselves with it. 
Within, a boy lay sick; an old man sat and 
scowled; a girl sang as she stirred the por¬ 
ridge that was cooking over a peat fire. 

Down the muddy street there came a mot¬ 
ley gathering. Peasants there were; women 
in hare feet, their short skirts gathered up ; 
boys and young girls; scowling men, who 
carried blackthorn shillelaghs, and held them 
close, as if they feared the mischief they 
might do. They milled about a little group 
that moved with a clear and evil purpose; 
the King’s Sheriff and his men, badged of 
office by their high hats. 

Sullen was the crowd; sullen and quiet. 
It was helpless. It might have overwhelmed 
the sheriff and his men—but to what end? 
Were not the barracks, a scant half-dozen 



14 LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 


miles away, full of redcoats? All the power 
of England stood behind the sheriff. They 
could only stand and watch, those Irish men 
and women, as the notice was tacked up 
against the rotting fence post. They had 
seen such notices put up before; would see 
them many a time again. They could only 
pray that their turn would not come, that, 
somehow, by pinching and by scraping, they 
could go on getting the rent together. 

Now the old man who sat within and. 
scowled heard the commotion and came out. 
And the sick boy, tossing on his bed, heard, 
and cried out, querulously, to know what 
was amiss. And the girl heard, and knew, 
and her hand went to her heart, as though 
a sudden pain had stricken her. 

The sheriff glanced at the notice. It was 
in order. John O’Day, debtor—judgment 
—execution—yes, all the forms were there. 
To be dispossessed forthwith—and the mag¬ 
istrate’s signature. As firm a warrant as 
though King George himself had affixed his 




LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 15 


royal signature! No more delay; an ugly 
business; best to get it over. For the sheriff 
knew that even though the crowd, should it 
attack him, would live to rue its hardihood, 
his own broken head would hurt him none 
the less should delay serve to rouse the 
peasants to interference with the law. 

Calling to his men to follow he strode in. 
He made no pause at the door; why knock 
for admittance at the home of such default¬ 
ers as these 0’Days'? He flung the door 
open; went in. And, a minute later out he 
came, tumbling helter skelter with his men, 
fleeing before a fury in flying skirts, who 
brandished a poker and cried out threats as 
she pursued them. 

“Out with you—with no more manners 
than to be storming in upon a house of sick¬ 
ness!’ 7 she cried. “Out—and begone!” 

In the yard the sheriff gathered his cour¬ 
age. Here, after all, was but one small girl 
to be faced. A vixen—a very wildcat—but 
not so terrible. 


16 LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 


“Now, then/’ he said, blustering, “it’ll go 
hard with all of ye if ye interfere with us in 
doing our plain duty.” 

She brandished her poker again. 

“Have you no sense of decency at all?” 
she cried. “Raising such a clatter and a 
clamor and my poor little brother lying there 
inside with his death upon him?” 

The sheriff smiled wearily. He was used 
to such pleas; used to denunciations. 

“It’s not my will that’s to be done here,” 
he said, more gently. “I’ve only my orders 
to carry out—” 

“Stand up to ’’em, Patricia darlin’!” cried 
a voice from the crowd. “Sure, and we’re 
all wid ye—” 

But now, from inside the house, John 
O ’Hay came out. He was an old man. He 
had the look of a fanatic; hate was in his 
smouldering eyes. But he was gentle as 
he put his hand upon Patricia’s shoulder. 

“It’s no use, Patricia darling,he said. 
“They’ve taken everything else—sure they 





LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 17 


might as well have the shell of a house we 
live in with the rest.” 

“I’ll never—” 

She flamed into a vehement protest. But 
her father turned to the sheriff. Dignity 
and perfect courtesy were in his manner. 
He would not handy words with one who 
was, after all, helpless to do other than he 
was doing. 

“Go in about your business and your 
duty,” he said. “Patricia—you will do 
nothing to interfere— 

She swallowed a sob. But there was noth¬ 
ing for her to do but to obey; ever since she 
could remember her father’s word had been 
law in his own household. Misfortune and 
adversity might have brought him low, but 
neither of his children had ever dreamed of 
questioning anything he ordered them to do. 

The sheriff and his deputies went in; 
John O’Day, following them, faced the 
sheriff as he might have stood to receive his 
guests in a mansion. The sheriff, a little 



18 LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 


abashed, conscious of something that was 
beyond his reach, handed him an official pa¬ 
per ; O’Day waved it aside. 

“Proceed, sir,” he said. “I have no need 
to read—I do not question your authority!”' 

But suddenly Patricia could stand it no 
longer. She flung herself toward the 
sheriff. 

“Oh, sir!” she cried. “Just give us time 
—a little time! My uncle in America is 
rich! One word from me and he will send 
the money—if you’ll but give us time to 
hear—” 

But even as she spoke her father seized 
her by the shoulders. She cried out in pain. 
Dignity was gone from his face as he swung 
her around so that she could see his furious, 
blazing eyes. 

“Must I be telling you again never to men¬ 
tion the name of my ungrateful brother?” 

For the moment his anger silenced her. 
But another emotion even stronger than fear 
had her in its grip—her love for the brother 




LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 19 

who lay dying, within hearing of all this 
commotion. 

“It’s well my father has done to be angry 
with him,” she said, “for it was himself 
gave his brother five pounds to be going to 
New York, and since he married a grasping 
wife ’tis never a word we’ve heard from 
him! ’ ’ 

The sheriff frowned; John O’Day, startled 
by this first insubordination, was silent for 
the moment. And Patricia, emboldened, 
went on. 

“But it’s in the case we’re in now I’ll be 
after writin’ him a letter that will touch the 
hard hearts of the both of them,” she said. 
“Just give us time to hear—” 

But now her father’s rage flared up again. 
He swept her aside; turned to the sheriff. 

“Be about your work!” he said. “If I 
was dyin’ I’d never call upon my brother to 
be helping me!” 

The sheriff shrugged his shoulders; spoke 
to his men. At once, as if glad to be given 


20 LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 

something to do beside stand sheepishly 
about, they went to work. Swiftly and with 
the ease long custom gives, they set to work 
to dismantle the house. The few sticks of 
furniture were carried out into the mud of 
the street; the pictures were torn from the 
walls. Patricia, beaten at last, drew close 
to her father, and they stood watching. His 
arm stole about her, and drew her close, until 
she turned at last, and buried her head on his 
shoulder. 

But now, suddenly, the door of the room 
the sheriff had not yet invaded opened. 
Patrick stood there in his nightclothes. He 
was burning with fever; his great eyes, un¬ 
naturally bright, took in the dreadful scene. 
At once Patricia and her father went to him; 
gently they drew him back into the room, 
urged him to lie down again. 

And all the time, without, fate was coming 
nearer. Fate assumes disguises at her 
pleasure. She chose, this time, the garb of 
a little man, fat, dapper, elderly, important. 


LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 21 


He came up, puffing; asked questions of the 
crowd. 

“The O’Days? Sure and it’s here they 
live, yer honor!” 

A dozen eager guides showed him the way. 
He went inside; stared as he saw what was 
going on; came close to smiling. 

“Is your name John O’Day?” he asked 
the sheriff. 

“That it’s not—hut you’ll find him inside 
the door there,” said the sheriff. “Here— 
O’Day!” 

Patricia and O’Day came out. For the 
moment all was quiet; the deputies ceased 
their work to stare and listen, convinced 
that something out of the ordinary was 
afoot. 

“Are you John O’Day?” asked the 
stranger. 

“I have that misfortune.” 

At once the newcomer began to chuckle. 
Never, you would say, had there been so rare 
a joke. His laughter set him first to wheez- 




22 LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 

ing, then to coughing. At last he was able 
to speak again. 

“God bless my soul!” he said. “Misfor¬ 
tune, you call it ? Do you know who I am, 
Mr. O’Day? No? I am a solicitor. I’ll 
wager you have dealt with my tribe before 
—but not like this.” Once more he fell to 
chuckling. “Do you know that we’ve been 
searching for you these ten months, sir? 
Ten months!” 

“Sure and we’ve been here ten times ten 
months!” said Patricia. 

“No matter now—I’ve found you, and in 
time. I’ve news. Sad news—yet with 
something to temper sadness. Mr. O’Day— 
you had a brother Richard, who for some 
time was a resident of New York in the 
United States of America?” 

“Had—?” said O’Day. “You mean—?” 

“I mean your brother’s dead, sir. 
There’s the sad news. And—he died rich. 
Rich—and left his riches to your son, Pat¬ 
rick O’Day, some time of Dublin.” 




LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 23 

For a moment Patricia and her father 
stared at one another. Then they were in 
one another’s arms, and dancing wildly. 
Until there came to them, suddenly, the 
memory of the sick boy, and they flew to 
make him the sharer of their joy. 

“And so they’re rich!” the sheriff said. 
“Eh, and it’s a strange world!” 

‘ ‘ Rich—by the chance that set me on their 
track!’’ the lawyer said. “We’d given them 
up when we found a clue. They’ve come far 
down in the world—kept little but their 
pride, I take it. So proud was this O’Day 
he would not tell those who had known him 
in better days where he meant to hide him¬ 
self away. Sheriff, you’d better begin to 
bring back these things. What’s the execu¬ 
tion for?” 

The sheriff named the sum; the lawyer, 
from a wallet fat with notes, paid him. 
Patricia came back then, and tears were in 
her eyes as she saw the deputies bringing 
back the belongings she had seen them carry 




24 LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 


out. And O'Day, restored to sanity, and to 
the thought of his manners, came to thank 
the lawyer. 

“Your son is sick, I hear,” the solicitor 
said. “I hoj)e he will be well enough to 
travel immediately. There is little enough 
time left to meet the conditions of the will, 
since he must be in New York within a year 
of his uncle’s death. And—ten months have 
gone already.” 

“You mean he’ll lose his fortune if he’s 
not there?” 

“So the will directs. In that event the 
whole estate reverts to Lawrence Delavan, 
your brother’s stepson.” 

“Is it Delavan!” Rage transformed 
John 0 ’Day once more into the maniac who 
had turned upon Patricia. “May God stif¬ 
fen all the Delavans—it was this one’s 
mother turned my brother’s heart against 
his own!” 

But here was something that concerned 
the lawyer not at all. His instructions were 



LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 25 


plain; his duty simple. There was time 
enough, but none to spare. He followed 
Patricia into the boy’s room; stood looking 
down at him. Patrick was smiling; good 
news had buoyed him up; he had a strength 
far beyond reality. 

“Can you travel with us in the morning— 
on your way to London ?” asked the lawyer. 
“There’ll be a chaise—all comfort that may 
be. There’s no more than time to catch the 
packet.” 

“I can travel to the moon!” cried 
Patrick. 



CHAPTER III 

In New York life was not greatly changed 
for Larry Delavan by the blow that old John 
Jacob Astor had dealt him when he read 
his stepfather’s will. Larry had the house 
in any case; it had been his mother’s, and 
had descended to him, together with a tiny 
income, which was augmented by the hun¬ 
dred dollars a month left to him by his step¬ 
father. Astor, sympathizing with him, had 
construed the provisions of the will liberally, 
and made that payment, even though, as yet, 
Larry’s guardianship had not begun. 

Larry himself thought little enough of 
his affairs. The first disappointment had 
unsettled him, but he had smiled, almost at 
once. After all, it was fair enough; a man 
should leave his money to his own kin. And 
Larry had had no claims upon his step- 


LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 27 


father. He had been fond of him, in a way, 
but he had never acknowledged his paternal 
authority; had always a little resented, in¬ 
deed, his mother’s second marriage, espe¬ 
cially, perhaps, because she had chosen, in 
making it, to step outside the little charmed 
circle that, in old New York, was already 
assuming oligarchic powers so far as the 
social life of the growing city went. 

A few great names ruled the town. De¬ 
scendants of the patroons; scions of great 
French and British families. Upstarts like 
Astor were held of small account; a young 
man named Cornelius Vanderbilt was only 
just beginning to receive nods from men like 
Irving and Halleck, although Delavan, as it 
happened, knew him and liked him well. 

Larry was well enough off; better off by 
far, for instance, than FitzGreene Halleck, 
who had to submit to old Astor’s temper and 
strict conduct of his office. 

Life in New York was a simple and a 
pleasant life in those days. It revolved 


28 LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 


about the narrow end of the peninsula of 
Manhattan. Great ships came up the bay; 
anchored off the Battery; were moored at 
the wharves along the North and East rivers. 
The trade they carried went to swell the 
rising fortunes of men like Astor. More 
and more strangers came to dwell within the 
city. Every ship brought young folk from 
Ireland; Germans, too, were beginning to 
come in, although the great day of the Ger¬ 
man immigration still lay in the future. 

The new City Hall stood in its classic 
beauty, far uptown; a prudent regard for 
economy had led to some alteration of the 
architect’s plans for its rear elevation, since 
it was so unlikely that any one would ever 
look at it from that view. The pleasant vil¬ 
lages of Greenwich, Chelsea, Yorkville, lay 
to the north; far in the country, a day’s 
drive, was Harlem. 

The playground of the bloods was across 
the river in New Jersey. Ferries carried 
them to Hoboken; to the Pleasure Gardens, 



Cosmopolitan Photoplay. Little Old New York 

JOHN O’DAY AND PATRICIA ARE SERVED WITH A NOTICE OUSTING THEM FROM THEIR LITTLE 

HOME IN IRELAND. 
















LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 29 


where there was coekfighting and all man¬ 
ner of diversion; to the Elysian Fields, 
where, a few years later, a new game called 
baseball was to be played for the first time. 

For Larry the time passed pleasantly 
enough. His house was a meeting place for 
the young men who set the fashion. Here 
was no woman to impose restrictions upon 
their play or their hours; Reilley might have 
his views, but he was too good a servant to 
air them to his master. The cellar was well 
stocked; good things to eat were abundant 
in the markets, and cheap; Reilley was a 
past master in the art of the kitchen. 

Brevoort, taster of all the pleasures of 
life, man of the world, knew Paris and Lon¬ 
don as he knew his own New York. He was 
never truly happy save at the gaming table; 
in that he and Larry were kindred spirits. 
Washington Irving played with them; 
drank with them, too. But there was a dif¬ 
ference in the way he played and drank; 
some part of him seemed always absent. 


30 LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 


He was known to write verses, sometimes; 
known, too, to have a keen eye and a quick 
wit. He made light of his scribbling, as he 
called it, but there were those who said that, 
should he choose to do so, he might make a 
name for himself in the world of letters. 
But, they added, he would never do it; he 
lacked energy, perseverance. 

Halleck joined them often. But his 
nights were haunted by the specter of old 
Astor, always the first to reach his counting 
house, merciless in his judgment of slug¬ 
gards. All very well for Larry and Bre- 
voort to play all night, and freshen them¬ 
selves then, for breakfast, under the pump! 

“You can sleep all day!” Halleck would 
grumble. “As for me, I’m a slave—I’m 
more held down than any slave!’ ? 

To Larry, though, there did come moments 
of depression; moments when he wondered 
if the life he lived were worth while. For to 
a young man in old New York, no matter 
how devoted he might be to the pursuit of 



LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 31 


pleasure, there were bound to be intimations 
of the idleness of his ways. 

New York was a growing city, a busy, a 
hard-working city. It was a great port, 
through which there flowed much of the 
trade of the stirring nation. Already it had 
outstripped Philadelphia; Perth Amboy, 
once its rival, had sunk back into something 
like oblivion. It had a magnificent harbor ; 
past it flowed the Hudson River, navigable 
itself to Albany, and reaching still farther 
westward by the Erie Canal. 

There was vision in New York, and Larry 
Delavan, knowing every one worth knowing, 
was bound to hear the talk that went about 
concerning the country’s growth and what 
the future was to bring. 

His neighbor, Mr. Schuyler, the great 
banker, was one of the men who sometimes 
fired his imagination. He had known Betty 
Schuyler all her life; she had a pretty way 
of calling to him, sometimes, to come and 
dine with them, taking pity, in her inno- 


32 LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 


cence, upon his lonely bachelor estate—and 
knowing, too, that while Ariana de Puyster 
was abroad Larry was unlikely, of his own 
volition, to seek much company outside his 
house. And Betty had her own notions of 
how good for him were the parties that, at 
times, woke her up in the still hours of the 
night. 

“This is a great country,*’’ Larry heard 
Schuyler say, once. “I think, tkd greatest 
in the world—potentially, the richest. It is 
too great—that is our difficulty. Transpor¬ 
tation is the hub of our problem.” 

“There is much talk of steam,” said 
Larry. “I hear that in England—” 

“Dreams, my boy—idle dreams,” said 
Schuyler. “Look at Mr. Pulton—wasting 
his time and his talents upon this steamboat 
of his!” 

“Suppose steam worked, though, sir— 
wouldn’t it solve the transportation prob¬ 
lem?” 

“So would flying!” Schuyler laughed. 



LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 33 

“You’ll be joining those next who say they 
expect to see men flying! 

“No,” he went on, “we must stick to what 
we can do. We must build more and more 
roads—build them to last, as the old Romans 
did, whose roads are still in use in England. 
And we must breed good horses—stout 
horses, that will enable us to maintain regu¬ 
lar stage routes between our cities. And 
canals! I see a network of canals, threading 
all this land, joining our rivers, carried 
across our hills by the skill of our engineers. 
We shall do better to devote ourselves to 
work within the limitations God has im¬ 
posed upon us than we shall if we pursue 
every will o’ the wisp like steam that dream¬ 
ers like Stephenson and Eulton dandle be¬ 
fore us!” 

Larry did not presume to argue further. 
But he was not convinced. Eor he knew Mr. 
Robert Fulton, that grave young man with 
the dour Scotch countenance; had met him 
through the agency of Cornelius Vanderbilt, 



34 LITTLE OLD NEW VOKE 

who ate and slept and talked transportation, 
morning, noon and night. 

Vanderbilt believed in steam and its fu¬ 
ture with a passion bound to be impressive 
to one like Larry, whose affectation it was 
to have no passions. 

“X tell you, Delavan,'” he said, “I can see 
what’s coming! Steam railways stretching 
clear across the continent! Have you 
studied the map of this land? We think 
great things of the Hudson—I tell you, it’s 
the Mississippi that is the river of our fu¬ 
ture! Look!” 

He spread out a map. His finger ran 
along the great river from the gulf to the 
Great Lakes?. It came back, then, and fol¬ 
lowed the Hudson. It came to rest at a 
point upon one of the Great Lakes. 

“ There, a hundred years hence, will be the 
center of this country!” he said. “I can 
see a great city rising there, on the prairie. 
I can see railways radiating from it, east, 
ywest, north, south. I care nothing for what 



LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 35 


your Schuylers say. I 1mow! The rail¬ 
ways will come—steam will come—because 
without them this country cannot fulfill its 
destiny. ’ ’ 

“But Fulton— 

“Fulton is trembling on the very verge of 
success to-day!” said Vanderbilt. “Money 
is all he needs to give him the victory.” He 
sighed. “If I were rich—! I shall be, 
some day, I think. But I would give much 
to be able to finance Fulton now! It is a 
terrible thing to have such faith in anything 
as I have in his steamboat, and to see its suc¬ 
cess hanging in the balance for the want of a 
few thousand dollars, and to be unable to lift 
a finger to help him!” v 

“I wish I could do something,” said 
Larry. He was greatly moved. ‘ ‘ If things 
had gone as I hoped—expected! But I’m 
no better oft than you, Vanderbilt—not as 
well, indeed. You will be rich, as you say— 
you’re the sort who succeeds, every time.” 
“I have heard of your disappointment,” 






36 LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 


said Vanderbilt. “But the heir has not ap¬ 
peared to claim his inheritance?” 

“Not yet!” said Larry, and laughed. 
“I’ll wager I’d not have been so slow!” 

“Suppose he doesn’t come? There is a 
limit to his time, is there not?” 

“A year—yes! Oh, in that case, every¬ 
thing comes to me. But I dare not build 
hopes upon that—not yet.” 

“Suppose fortune is kind to you, though? 
Would you consider advancing ten thousand 
dollars to Fulton then?” 

“Consider it? My dear fellow, I’d do it 
like a shot! I like Fulton—I like you. I 
believe you know what you’re talking about. 
And I’m enough of a mechanic to feel pretty 
sure that Fulton is on the right track, no 
matter what any one says. I’d like noth¬ 
ing better than a chance to share his 
profits.”' 

‘ ‘ That’s something for us to look forward 
to,” said Vanderbilt. “I shall bear our talk 
in mind, if I may, if the time comes. And— 



LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 37 


I hope that it will, for your own sake, as 
well as for Fulton’s.” 

Vanderbilt was by no means the only one 
who knew Larry who felt so. There had 
been much sympathy for him when the na¬ 
ture of his stepfather’s will had become 
known. No one wasted much sympathy 
upon an unknown boy in Ireland, no matter 
how poor and how deserving he might be— 
not when his fortune meant the casting into 
poverty of one so likeable as Larry Delavan. 



CHAPTER IV 


As the year that had been allowed for 
young Patrick O’Day to appear and claim 
his inheritance wore on it became more and 
more difficult for Larry Delavan to believe 
that he would come. Astor kept him in¬ 
formed of the progress of the search; seemed 
genuinely glad that, thus far, it had failed. 

“I have my reports,” he said. “From 
London my agents and correspondents have 
sent out men. They have spared no trou¬ 
ble—no expense. In Dublin is there no sign 
or trace of this O’Day. He has disap¬ 
peared. They follow up clues—it is their 
duty, as it is mine. But we hear nothing.” 

Never had words spoken in a curious mix¬ 
ture of English and German had a more 
welcome sound. Larry’s friends ceased 



LITTLE OLD NEW! YORK 39. 

even to think of the ill luck that had be¬ 
fallen him. 

“You’ll enjoy your dish all the more, 
when you taste it,” said Brevoort, “for the 
savor this waiting will give! Lord—a new 
sensation! I envy you, Larry—’pon my 
word, I do!” 

“You needn’t!” said Larry. “It’s all 
very well for you—but I’ll not draw a good 
long breath now until the time is up!” 

Yet in his own heart he harbored no 
doubts. Surely word would have come by 
now! 

He had seen much of Vanderbilt; had be¬ 
come more and more interested in this in¬ 
vention of Mr. Robert Fulton’s. He had 
no doubt of Fulton; the man was plainly 
on the right track. But he had spent all 
of his own fortune; the financing of the re¬ 
cent work had been a difficult matter. Van¬ 
derbilt was greatly worried. 

“We have had to deal with Mr. Schuy¬ 
ler’s bank,” he said. “We owe him ten 



40 LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 

thousand dollars. Schuyler has played safe 
—he has, in the vessel and the machinery, 
ample security, even should these experi¬ 
ments end in failure/’ 

“You have money enough to see you 
through your trial trip?” 

“Just enough,” said Vanderbilt. “This 
is the situation. The notes to Mr. Schuy¬ 
ler’s bank fall due almost at once. So do 
certain other obligations that must be met. 
Ten thousand dollars would cover every¬ 
thing. But—suppose the trial trip is a suc¬ 
cess? Mr. Schuyler will have the notes. 
He can foreclose then, if he pleases—take 
everything. Mr. Fulton and those who have 
become interested with him would lose every¬ 
thing—the exploitation of the invention 
and all the profits would go to Mr. Schuy¬ 
ler.” 

“He would not do so mean a thing!” 

Vanderbilt shook his head and smiled. 

“It is difficult to say,” he said. “You 
know him as a kindly neighbor. But a man 



LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 41 


may be one thing in his home, and quite 
another in his bank. Business, I find, is 
business.” 

“The situation is as Vanderbilt states it, 
is it, Mr. Fulton?” said Larry. 

“Exactly, sir!” 

“Well—” said Larry. “You need give 
yourselves no further concern. The mo¬ 
ment that my inheritance is legally mine I 
shall be glad to advance you the ten thou¬ 
sand dollars that you need.” 

Fulton looked pleased; Vanderbilt ex¬ 
claimed aloud in his delight, losing, for the 
moment, his customary poise. 

“We must drink to this enterprise!” said 
Larry. “Some friends of mine are here— 
this is an occasion!” 

He called, and Halleck, Brevoort and 
Irving came in, one by one. Fulton was 
known to them all by sight, but they had 
not met him before, and Irving, in particu¬ 
lar, was greatly impressed. 

“Is it true, Mr. Fulton,” he asked, “that 



42 LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 


you once had an audience with the Emperor 
Napoleon Bonaparte while he was in his 
hath tub?” 

Fulton smiled. 

“Yes, it is quite true, Mr. Irving,” he 
said. 

“Trust Irving to ask a question like 
that! ’ ’ said Brevoort, with a laugh. 4 ‘ He ’ll 
talk to an inventor about that—and I sup¬ 
pose he’d have asked the Emperor Napoleon 
about—’ J 

“Some love affair—never a battle!” said 
Halleck. 

“You may laugh at Irving,” said Dela- 
van, affectionately, “but I assure you we 
all have great expectations of him, Mr. 
Fulton.” 1 

“I should like you to tell me more of 
that incident some time, Mr. Fulton,” said 
Irving. “For, you must know, I hope, 
some day, when I get through drinking and 
gambling, to write a bit.” 

“I shall be delighted, Mr. Irving, 2 ’ said 


i 



LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 43 

Eulton. He turned then to Delavan. “I 
hope I may be permitted to congratulate 
you, sir, upon your inheritance. The task 
is the more welcome because of the fortitude 
with which you bore your disappointment 
a year ago.” 

He bowed; went out, then, with yander- 
bilt. 

“So say we all, Larry!” cried Brevoort, 
slapping him on the back. “No man will 
grace a fortune better than yourself!” 

And Irving, his arm about his friend, 
echoed Brevoort. 

“As for these O’Days,” he said, “I don’t 
know whether they’re lost, strayed or dead 
—and I don’t care, for to-night we shall be 
merry at their expense!” 

“Well said!’’ said Halleek. 6i And here’s 
the faithful Reilley bringing up the where¬ 
withal!” 

He pointed to the next room, where Reil¬ 
ley was setting out glasses around the great 
punchbowl. Laughing they drew Larry 


44 LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 

with them, and Irving, filling his glass, 
raised it. 

“Now, the Lord be praised!’ 1 he cried, 
‘ ‘ for such an excellent excuse to get entirely 
drunk!” 

“Hear, hear!” the others cried. “A 
pretty turn for words you have, Irving— 
by all means turn it to account—when all 
the liquor’s drunk!” 

None of them heard the sound of knock¬ 
ing on the door. But it came to Reilley’s 
ears, and he went, slowly, to answer. Irv¬ 
ing saw him, and started; his sense of the 
dramatic stayed his hand, which was about 
to lift his glass. 

‘ 1 And what’s this ? ” he cried. ‘ ‘ Some one 
coming—at this hour 1 ?” 

They stood, transfixed; the same fear was 
in all their minds. Reilley opened the door, 
and Astor was seen, standing framed within 
it. He came in, past Reilley, who stood, his 
mouth open, while an old man and a boy 
entered. 














LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 45 

Larry stood a moment, dazed. Very 
slowly there dawned upon him the signifi¬ 
cance of what he saw. Astor—an old man 
—a boy. And before midnight! Before! 
Was the cup to be dashed from his lips at 
this eleventh hour ? As if to make an omen 
the glass he held fell from his fingers, and 
was shattered to pieces on the floor. 

He stared at the old man. Irish—no 
doubt of it. And more—he was seeing his 
stepfather over again. Oh, it was—and the 
boy—that must be young Patrick! The lad 
who was to take all he had fondly believed 
to be his—who, for the second time, had 
come into his life to the ruin of all his hopes! 
He laughed, suddenly, at the bitter mockery 
of it—that he must tend and guard this 
interloper! 

Astor came close to him. He was too 
moved, for the moment, to betray his cus¬ 
tomary disapproval of such a scene as this; 
even Halleck did not get the sharp look of 
reproof he had been expecting. 




46 LITTLE OLD NEW; YORK 


“Larry!” he said. “This—this is young 
Patrick O’Day and his father. They come 
to-day on my packet—but if they dropped 
from heaven I could not be more sur¬ 
prised!’’ 

Larry nodded; his eyes were all for the 
boy. And the boy, in turn, stared at him. 
Until, suddenly, old O’Day, drawing his 
shawl closer about him, swayed. Then the 
boy hurried to help him. And at last he 
spoke. 

“I heard tell America was a wild place!” 
he said, angrily. ‘ 1 But not that there wasn’t 
at least one gentleman who would fetch a 
chair for an old man!” 

“Reilley!” cried Delavan. “A chair—at 
once—for Mr. O’Day.” 

Reilley hurried to obey; He and Patrick 
together helped the old man to settle down. 
Patrick turned to Astor. 

“Have you the like of a bottle in your 
pocket, sir?’ ? he asked. 


LITTLE OLD NEW; YORK 47 


Even Larry smiled; Irving laughed aloud 
at the picture of Astor’s indignation. 

“Excuse me, sir!” said Patrick. “ ’Twas 
the look of your nose that made me think 
it.” 

Astor was furious. But Larry saw that 
something of the sort was needed, and 
turned to Reilley, who brought a decanter 
from the sideboard. And then, while he 
and the hoy revived the old man, his friends 
came to him, shaking his hand, preparing 
to take a melancholy leave. Astor, too, ap¬ 
proached him. 

“This is bad news for you, Larry,” he 
said. ‘ ‘ I will come to-morrow to talk things 
over, when you have had a chance to begin 
feeling better.” 

And he turned toward the door. As the 
others made to follow Larry, without so 
much as a glance at Patrick or his father, 
went with him. He could not trust himself 
alone with them just yet. 


48 LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 

Reilley was left to care for them. And 
blood cried to Irish blood. Reilley wor¬ 
shipped Larry—but here were two of his 
own race, far from home, and in sore need 
of friendship, if Reilley knew the world he 
had lived in so long. There could he no 
doubt, in eyes that had looked as often as 
Reilley’s upon death, of the state of John 
O ’Day; the old man was near his end. He 
had clung desperately to life so far; now 
that the strain was over, that he had brought 
his boy safely to his destination, he would 
not linger long. 

“Sure and your father’s tired, Master 
Patrick,” he said. “That’s all that’s ailing 
him. ’ ’ 

At his words the boy spun around, and 
a strange thing happened. For a swift 
crimson flooded his face, and he stood, star¬ 
ing. Yet the explanation came readily 
enough to Reilley; who, before, had ever 
given this lad a handle to his name? He 
shook his head. He had seen beggars put 


LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 49 


upon horseback before in his time—and not 
yet had he seen good come of it. He went 
out sorrowfully. Trouble had come to the 
house he loved; of so much, if of nothing 
more, he was sure. 

Alone with his father the boy stood a 
moment, listening. Then, with a cry, he 
turned. 

“Oh, father!’* he said. “Maybe it’s not 
too late! For the love of the saints let’s 
run before they find us out!” 

The old man half rose in his chair. 

“Would you be denyin’ me the vengeance 
I’ve waited half a lifetime for? Would 
you be cheatin’ him that’s dead and gone 
out of what was his by every right?” 

He was a terrible and tragic figure, with 
his clenched fists, and his blazing eyes. 
Death had marked his body, but his will was 
still as strong, as wild, as it had ever been. 

“Bad cess to you!” he cried, in his rage. 
“Would you have my dyin’ curse to re¬ 
member all your days—my curse upon a 


/ 



50 LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 


daughter that's forsworn! Keep a hold 
front, girl!” 

Girl—for this was not young Patrick, 
dead at sea, and cast to the Atlantic, but 
Patricia. Patricia who had defied the 
sheriff—who, in the extremity of that ter¬ 
rible voyage, had donned her brother’s 
clothes and deceived all the ship’s company 
into believing that it was the girl, and not 
the boy, who, sewed in a ha m mock, had been 
committed to the waves! 

She hesitated now. But at the door she 
heard a step; Larry was coming back. And 
her father’s eyes filled her with terror. 

“Oh, do but be still!” she cried. “I’ll 
do as you bid me—God help mel u 







CHAPTER V • 

Bitter as were Larry Delavan’s feelings 
toward the O ’Days he was incapable of fail¬ 
ing to see that the boy, after all, was not to 
blame. He had done onlv what he had been 
hidden to do; he had not sought to injure 
Larry; certainly, his appearance at the last 
possible moment had not been designed to 
produce the effect it had had. 

Even that night, in the garden, as he hid 
farewell to his friends, he had begun to rally 
from the shock, and pull himself together. 

“After all, I’ll still have a hundred a 
month—and it’s better than nothing a 
year! ” he said. 

“You’ve the right spirit, Larry!’* said 
Brevoort. “And never fear but your 
friends will stand by you! We ’ll leave you 

51 


52 LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 


now—but you shall see us to-morrow, if you 
will. ’ ’ 

“I’ll need you more than ever now,” said 
Larry. 

He had gone in to be turned upon by the 
boy, furious because no one had yet offered 
to provide a bed for the old man. He had 
called Reilley, only to find that Reilley had 
anticipated his orders. And Reilley, too, 
had taken the old man upstairs—leaving 
Larry alone, for the first time, with Patri¬ 
cia—though, to him, of course, she was 
Patrick. 

Small wonder that she had succeeded in 
carrying out the deception her father had 
planned! She had lived more like a boy 
than a girl at home; had been stronger, al¬ 
ways, more robust, more active than her 
sickly younger brother. Her father had 
said a hundred times that she should have 
been the boy, Patrick the girl. And now 
it was so! 

She made a wonderfully handsome boy. 


LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 53 

Patrick’s clothes fitted her to perfection; 
became her slight and boyish figure, too. 
Larry, regarding her, had been conscious, 
resentfully, of a queer feeling of sympathy, 
almost of liking. But that was going too 
far! He had turned to her coldly. 

“If you want anything, for your father 
or yourself, ask Reilley for it,” he said. 

“There’s one thing I’m wanting no Reil¬ 
ley can be givin’ me,” she said, impudently. 
“I could be after doin’ with a bit of wel¬ 
come from my only relation in Amer¬ 
ica!” 

He had laughed. 

“That’s asking a good deal!” he said. 
“After all—you’ve cost me a pretty penny 
—though I bear you no grudge for that. 
But remember you’re no relation to me! 
, Your uncle was only my stepfather, you 
know!” 

“Aye—the saints be praised that we’ve no 
blood in common! ’ ’ she cried, her quick tem¬ 
per flaming up. “Sure, and I might have 





5 4 LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 


known the Delavans had neither manners 
nor kindness in them! I wish I’d stayed 
in Ireland!” 

“Oh, well,” said Larry, “I won’t trouble 
you much. I’ll be out all night and asleep 
all day.” 

He turned away from her, lighting his 
pipe as he sat down. For a moment she was 
furious—until she remembered that he, of 
course, thought her a boy! Master Larry 
wouldn’t be treating a pretty step-cousin so, 
she thought—even though she had cost him 
a fortune! And she smiled. Then, very 
softly, she crossed the room to him; caught 
herself; just in time, as she was about to 
lay her hand on his shoulder. 

“Don’t be goin’ on sprees,’ 2 she said. 
“Sure, what’s the good of a spree when it’s 
all over?* 2 

He stared at her in astonishment. A 
simple question—but how answer it? For 
a moment her smile, the straight, keen look 
in her eyes came close to conquering his re- 




LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 55 


sentment and his instinctive dislike. But 
then he shrugged his shoulders. 

“Go to bed, child!” he said. 

Patricia started. But she bit back the 
angry words that rose to her lips; turned, 
and went upstairs. Once, as she went up, 
she looked back at him, and a curious, wist¬ 
ful smile played about the corners of her 
mouth. He sat before the fire, looking into 
its dying embers, the picture of dejection. 
And she went on, up to her father. 

Morning found Larry better able to cope 
with the situation. His duty was plain. 
He must care for this boy; must see to it 
that he grew into a man fit to bear the re¬ 
sponsibilities of his fortune. Personal feel¬ 
ings could not be allowed to enter into the 
matter. He had a trust; it behooved him 
to fulfill it. He was prepared to meet Astor 
when the time came. 

He rose late; when he went down to 
breakfast Pat was in the dining room. And 
Larry, to his disgust, saw the boy picking 


56 LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 


up the dishes from which he had been eat¬ 
ing. Pat checked himself at the look in 
Larry’s eyes. But when Larry reached for 
his cup Pat was before him, ready to pour 
his coffee. Larry stared for a moment; 
then snatched the pot. 

“Such things are for servants to do—or 
girls!” he said. 

Reilley came in just then, and Larry, in 
relief, turned to him. 

“How is Mr. O’Day this morning, Reil¬ 
ley V x he asked. 

“Sure, he’s better the day,” said Reilley. 
“I was not a surgeon in President Wash¬ 
ington’s army for nothing.” 

Pat listened. She was relieved; Reilley’s 
words gave her more hope for her father 
than she had dared to entertain since her 
brother’s death. She was easier in her 
mind, too; so far, at least, she had not been 
discovered. But she must be on her guard, 
since her father insisted that she should go 
on with this monstrous deception. 



LITTLE OLD NEW, YORK 57 


Pat scarcely knew wkat she thought of 
Larry Delavan. He was, certainly, far 
from being the monster of cruelty and ava¬ 
rice her father had portrayed. He had been 
none too kind, but Pat could enter into his 
feelings. And if he knew! Knew that the ' 
fortune was really his; that she and her 
father were impostors, cheating him out of 
his own! 

Eh, well, he must just not find out! She 
listened while Larry and Reilley talked. 
And, unconsciously, she did a thing that, 
had she thought, she would have cut off 
her hand rather than do. In a bowl on 
the table were flowers from the garden 
that Reilley had plucked and had, man¬ 
like, put into the bowl without any at¬ 
tempt at arrangement. Her fingers itched 
to be at them; gradually they had their 
way. 

She stood, bending over the flowers. And 
suddenly Reilley saw what she was doing; 
the amazement in his eyes made Larry, too, 


58 LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 


look at Pat. He and Reilley exchanged 
glances; then Larry, angry and disgusted, 
spoke. 

“For heaven’s sake stop acting like a 
girl!” he said. “It’s my job to make a 
man of you—and I see I’ve no sinecure!” 

He spoke sharply, but there was no ill 
nature in his voice; it was such a reproof 
as a boy might well expect a half a dozen 
times a day, from even the kindest of guard¬ 
ians. But in her overwrought and nervous 
state it was too much for Pat—to say noth¬ 
ing of the agony of fear that rose at that 
stern command not to act like what she knew 
she was—a girl! The tears came to her 
eyes; try as she would she could not drive 
them back, and turned away, that they 
might not see. 

But she was too late. Larry, astonished, 
got up and crossed to her; took her by the 
shoulders, and, in spite of her resistance, 
swung her around to face him. 

“For heaven’s sake!” he exclaimed. 


LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 59 

“He’s crying, Reilley! Here, boy—stop 
it!” 

And that, naturally, only made her cry 
the Harder. 

‘ ‘ Baby! ’ ’ said Larry, contemptuously. 
“I suppose we’ll Have to get Him a rocking 
Horse or a jumping jack, Reilley!” 

Pat did Her best, but Her sobs still shook 
Her, and, after a moment, Larry turned 
away, in angry disgust, and went out of tHe 
room. SHe looked up quickly as He went; 
tHen turned imploring eyes to Reilley, wHo 
only sHook His Head, mournfully. 

“ You ’ll not go far witH Him along that 
road, Master Pat,” He said. “He ’ll never 
Have a wHining dog nor one that comes 
crawling to Him on His belly. He’s all for 
courage and strength.” 

Pat, disconsolate, feeling that she Had no 
friend at all in this land so far from Home, 
wandered into the next room. SHe saw 
Larry in the garden, talking earnestly to 
two young men—Fulton and Vanderbilt, al- 


60 LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 


though, as yet, she did not know that. And, 
quite shamelessly, standing in the open win¬ 
dow, but shielded from their view, she lis¬ 
tened. 

“I see you have heard the news of my mis¬ 
fortune, ” Larry was saying. “Bad news 
travels fast.” 

“I’m afraid it is bad news indeed for us,” 1 
said Pulton, gloomily. “We had counted 
upon you. I understand that it is no fault 
of yours that you cannot come to our as¬ 
sistance—but I greatly fear that this means 
the end, for a long time at least, of our hopes 
of the Clermont V y 

All this was as so much Greek to Pat. 
But the look in Larry’s eyes was easy 
enough to read. Grief and humiliation 
both were in it. 

“I am more sorry than I can say,” he 
said. “It grieves me to the heart to be the 
cause of your embarrassment. I wish—” 

He looked about him. And suddenly his 
eyes lighted up. 



LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 61 


6 ‘ Gentlemen! ” he said. i ‘ I had promised 
you ten thousand dollars—to-day. I can¬ 
not keep that promise. But you may have 
the money within a month, if that will do!”' 

Fulton looked up, hope renewed in his 
face. ^Vanderbilt looked hard at Larry. 

“A month?” he said. “You are sure? 
If we could count upon that absolutely we 
could go on. We could take certain risks 
—knowing the money was to be in hand— 

“I am as sure as I am that I see my 
house,”' said Larry. “If that will serve 
your turn—count upon it!” 

“That will save us,” said Vanderbilt. 
4 6 One moment—we must consider ways and 
means. We have exhausted our credit with 
Mr. Schuyler’s bank—but if you indorsed 
our note? It would mean agreeing to pay 
the money to him, instead of us, within the 
month. And we must have cash, at once.” 

“As you please,” said Larry. “Yes— 
upon the security that I can offer I feel 
sure that Mr. Schuyler will let you draw the 



62 LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 


money—even to-day. Meet me at the bank 
in an hour.” 

They shook hands with him upon that, 
and left him, well pleased. And Pat, more 
conscience-stricken than ever, wishing that 
she could help him, went to meet Larry as 
he came back into the house. He brushed 
by her without noticing her; went into the 
big room of the house, and to his desk. It 
was a disorderly affair; its confusion went 
straight to Pat’s heart as she followed him, 
quiet as a mouse, and stood, looking over 
his shoulder as he sat down. 

Larry himself looked a little appalled as 
he ran his hand through the waste of papers 
in the desk. Bills—bills—piled high. Of 
late, sure of his inheritance, he had let him¬ 
self go; had used his credit without thought 
or concern. And now he had come to the 
end of his rope; they would all be down upon 
him, now that the news of Pat’s coming was 
out, demanding their pounds of flesh. 

He could pay, and he would—just as he 



LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 63 


could and would make good kis obligation 
to Fulton and Vanderbilt. But bis eyes 
were dark as be reckoned tbe cost; it was a 
somber look be gave tbe stately room be sat 
in. 

4 ‘ Ob, can’t I belp ? 99 asked Pat. 4 6 Cousin 
Larry—I wish you’d let me—” 

“Help? You?” Tbe irony of it roused 
Larry to bitter laughter. “No—get out and 
leave me alone! Can’t you see I’m busy?” J 



CHAPTER VI 

Sick and sore at heart Patricia wandered 
out into the garden. This Larry she was 
seeing was utterly unlike the man her father 
had pictured. Delavan he might be—but 
selfish, heedless of others, he was not. She 
knew nothing, as yet, of what the conversa¬ 
tion she had overheard might mean, but it 
was plain that Larry’s chief concern over 
the loss of his inheritance arose just now 
from his inability to fulfill his agreement 
with the two men she had seen with him. 

He was suffering; that much was plain. 
That would have touched her even had she 
had no part in bringing it about; even had 
she been the rightful heir to his estate she 
was only pretending to be. As it was—well, 
she was afraid to be seen. Afraid, cer¬ 
tainly, to see her father. She dared not op- 



LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 65 


pose him any more; in his condition it was 
doubly dangerous to do so. And he had 
never been a man to cross. 

Off in one corner was Reilley, busy with 
some plants. Pat looked at him; consid¬ 
ered joining him; decided against it, in the 
end. She wanted to be alone. The flowers 
were beautiful; roses, hollyhocks, larkspur 
in full bloom. She had never seen so lovely 
a garden; there had been neither time nor 
room for flowers at home, in a land where 
every bit of barren soil must help to feed 
the hungry, at any time within her memory. 

Slowly, tentatively, at first, she began to 
pick the flowers as she wandered about; un¬ 
consciously, as she had done within, she 
shaped them into a wreath. Gradually she 
lost all sense of where she was and what she 
was supposed to be; went, almost gayly, 
about her task. 

Outside a pair of urchins passed; stopped 
to look in. They saw Pat; staring, saw 
w T hat she was doing. So did Reilley, and, 


66 LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 


with a shake of his head, gave it up. But 
Pat, sublimely unconscious of them all, went 
on. She could think while she did this; 
think of some way to help Larry. 

The first urchins spied friends now; beck¬ 
oned to them; despite their reputation, at¬ 
tracted two more who came and joined 
them, hanging over the fence. More and 
more came; perched on the fence; began to 
talk to one another. Slowly the sense of 
their presence came to Pat, and she turned 
to look. At once they began to jeer. 

“Look at the girl in boy’s clothes!” cried 
one—an exquisite jest that won him peals 
of delighted laughter, the while it sent the 
blood to Pat’s cheeks. Already! She was 
caught so soon! 

“Yah! Sissy! Sissy!’ 3 cried another. 

Some sixth sense told her then that they 
didn’t know; that they were jeering at her 
as they would only at another boy. Her 
fear gave way to anger. 

“Be oif with ye!” she cried. “Have ye 



LITTLE OLD NEW YORK (37 

( ■ • , t : 

no one to teach ye manners* here in 
America ? ’ 1 

“It’s a mick—a sissy mick!” cried one. 
“There’s something new for you!” 

“Come out and make us go!” another 
cried. “I dare you—I double dare you!’ 3 

Desperately Pat looked about. But Reil- 
ley had gone into the house. She longed 
to follow him, and escape, so. But she 
dared not; she was more afraid to go than 
to stay. And then something struck her 
cheek and spattered; she put up her finger, 
and brought it away covered with mud. 

In an instant her fears were forgotten; 
nothing remained but her Irish temper. 
Raging she flung down her flowers and 
started for the gate. And her tormentors, 
as eager to meet her as she now was to 
come, dropped from the fence and rushed 
to the gate to await her. 

Alas! No chronicle of a miracle can this 
be! The odds were too great. Pat met the 
enemy—and was theirs! They pummeled 



68 LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 


her; they rolled her in the dirt; they tore 
her clothes. She was crying as she fought 
—oh, she fought! But she was no match 
even for the smallest of her foes; these were 
city urchins, trained to rough and tumble 
fighting in the streets and about the wharves 
almost from the cradle. 

Reilley and Larry Delavan heard the 
tumult at last; came rushing to the rescue. 
Before them the invaders scattered into 
laughing flight, and while Reilley chased 
them Larry helped Pat to her feet—a woe¬ 
begone spectacle indeed. Her nose was 
bleeding; her tears made two furrows down 
through the dirt and grime upon her cheeks; 
her collar was torn off; her clothes were in 
rags. 

Larry took her by the arm and led her 
in. Reilley, facing her, shook his head. 

‘ 4 Sure, 5 ’ he said, “lie’s the most disap¬ 
pointin’ Irish lad for his years and size ever 
I did see! What to do with him I don’t 
know!’- 2 


LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 69 


“He’s pretty hopeless,” said Larry, free¬ 
ing Pat’s shoulder, and letting her sink 
down, sobbing and ashamed, on the bench. 
“Lord, boy, how did you amuse yourself in 
Ireland?’ 2 

Pat looked up, her lip trembling. 

“I—I—used to play the harp—” she said. 

“Worse and more of it!” cried Larry, and 
burst into helpless laughter. “Take him in 
and scrub him, Reilley—then we’ll take him 
down to Mr. Astor’s store and buy him some 
new clothes. He needs them now, sure 
enough!’ 2 

“I’ll wash myself !’ 2 said Pat, with a show 
of spirit at last, and, eluding Reilley’s 
grasp, she ran into the house. 

It was something, later, to have Larry go 
with her to Mr. Astor’s, though; to have him 
show some interest in what was to be bought 
for her. No one paid any attention to her 
preferences; it was a hard fate that put 
Patricia at the mercy of three men the very 
first time in all her life that she could, so 


70 LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 

far as money went, have bought whatever 
pleased her! 

But shopping was exciting, at any rate, 
and Mr. Astor’s store was a wonderful 
place. She left Larry behind when she 
went; Reilley was to take her home, and 
they walked down Whitehall street. Their 
way took them past the stocks and the 
whipping post, and Pat stared, with eager 
curiosity, at a crowd that had gathered. 

“What are they all there for*?” she 
asked. 

“Sure, it’s devilin’ some poor thief they 
are!” said Reilley. “Look—there’s a shot 
went home!” 

Some one had thrown a very ripe tomato 
at the poor victim of the law who occupied 
the stocks, and it was running down his 
cheeks. Pat looked away in horror. 

“Reilley,” she said, “if the thief was a 
girl, would they be after treatin’ her the like 
of that?’ 2 

“Sure—only maybe more so! ,J! said Reil- 




LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 71 

ley, still laughing at the good marksman¬ 
ship of the tomato thrower. 

“Come, then—let’s not be staying here,* 3 
said Pat, tugging at Reilley’s arm, her face 
white. She had never thought of such a 
punishment for her crime, should it he de¬ 
tected. 

“Where did Mr. Delavan go?” she asked. 
She wanted to change the subject as quickly 
as might he. 

“To the bank,” said Reilley, frowning. 
He knew as much about Larry’s affairs as 
did Larry himself; more, indeed, in all 
probability. And he realized how ex¬ 
tremely grave Larry’s situation was. “He 
•—he had business to attend to there. ” j 

“Because of mef ? 

6 6 You! Devil a hit of it! Think you he’s 
nothing but you to concern himself with, 
poor lad?” 

“No, no—hut I mean—if I hadn’t come 
he’d not have had to go?” 

“No good thinking of that now,” said 


72 LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 


Reilley. “Right’s right, and all lie thought 
was to be his is rightfully yours, and that’s 
the end of it. But it’s cruel hard on him, 
for all that.’-* 

“I know it,” said Pat, softly. “I—I’m 
sorry, too, Reilley. It’s glad I’d be to share 
with him.” 

Reilley turned to stare down at her. 

“Eh, and you may have the makings of 
a decent man in you, yet!” he said, sur¬ 
prised. “But he’d not be taking anything 
from you, even if he could—and you could 
not he giving it to him if you w^ould. Not 
yet awhile.” 

“Can’t I do as I please with my own 
money?” 

r 

“You cannot—and so you’ll find the first 
time you go to old Astor for some of it to 
spend on foolishness. k ’Tis he that’s the 
executor and has the spendin’ of your money 
until you come of age.” 

“Then if I want any money, I must go to 
him?’ 1 


LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 73 


“Aye, and with a good reason for wanting 
the same—else you’ll not get it. He has the 
name of being a careful man with what’s 
his—and of being just twice as careful still 
with all he holds in trust. Yet I’d like to 
have one dollar for every ten he’s thrown 
away!’-* 

“How’s that, if he’s so careful?” 

“The man’ll die land poor, if he’s not 
heedful. Land, land—it’s all he thinks of, 
from one day’s end to the next. He’d buy 
all of Manhattan Island if he could! Why 
he talks of when the city will have grown 
until it stretches half the way to Harlem! 
Who ever heard the like?’* 

“And will he buy land for me, too?’* 

“If it pleases him, he will. He’s a hard 
man to argue with.” 

Pat walked along in silence for a space. 
“Reilley,” she said, then, “why is Mr. 
Delavan so worried? Why does he want 
ten thousand dollars to give those gentlemen 
who came to see him this morning ? ’ ’ 



74 LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 


“The saints preserve ns! ’Tis for Mr. 
Fulton’s steamboat—though what business 
it is of yours is past my knowing!” 

Another space of silence. Then: 

“Reilley—who is the pretty young lady 
who lives next door?” 

Reilley roared. 

“Bless us—there’s the first natural thing 
you’ve said! That’s Mr. Schuyler’s daugh¬ 
ter, Betty. You’ve an eye for the ladies, 

* _ 

my boy. Mr. Larry’ll be glad to know so 
much!” 

‘ 4 No—no—you mustn ’t tell him! Reilley 
—is—does—is Mr. Delavan fond of her?” 

“Fond of her, is it? And why not— 
hasn’t he known her all her life? But if 
it’s does he court her you mean—no.” And 
Reilley scowled. “Not while Mistress de 
Puyster’s there with her black eyes to cast 
a spell upon him, like!”* 

‘ ‘ Mistress de Puyster ? 2 J Pat’s eyes were 
drawn together in a frown. “Why, I’m 




LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 75 


after knowin’ her! She was on the ship 
with us!” 

“Aye—and glad even of yonr company, 
so long as you wore trousers, I’ll wager!”■ 
said Reilley. 

‘ 4 My company ? ’ ’ Pat laughed. * i She was 
too good for the likes of my father and me- 
self! She’s the proud one, Reilley!” 

'“Aye—and why not? There’s no better 
family here than hers, and hasn’t she been 
in Europe this year past, hobnobbing with 
kings and dukes and princes and the like?” 

“And he—Mr. Delavan—goes courtin’ 
her, you say?” 

“I said nothing of the sort—and you’ll 
do well to keep a quiet tongue in your own 
head, boy. Mr. Larry’s not one to like 
havin’ any one talk over his affairs, I can 
be tellin’ ye!” 

But Pat had learned a good deal in that 
short walk. She was satisfied to be quiet 
for a space now. 





.t 


4 


CHAPTER YII 

In his garden Larry talked again with 
Fulton and with Vanderbilt. He was sober 
but quietly confident. Vanderbilt, however, 
was disturbed. 

“I dislike to be pressing, Mr. Delavan,” 
he said, “but I hope that you appreciate the 
seriousness of your undertaking. As mat¬ 
ters stand Mr. Fulton and I are responsible, 
should you fail to meet the note you have 
given Mr. Schuyler—and we would lose tho 
Clermont and all she represents.’’ 

“I know,’- said Larry, and nodded. 

" From the Schuyler garden next door the 
sound of voices came clearly. He could 
hear Betty’s, light, melodious; Brevoort’s, 
Irving’s—and another. Ariana was back! 
The long time of waiting was over! What 
else could matter now ? 

76 





Q < 
£ O 


5 « 


Cosmopolitan Photoplay . 

















LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 77 

“Oh, come, Vanderbilt!’ 1 said Fulton* 
“You’re a regular killjoy! They call me 
sober—but I’m a jester beside you! 
Haven’t we bothered* Delavan enough with¬ 
out your croaking now?” 

“He knows me,” said Larry, with a faint 
smile. ‘ 6 Knows what an irresponsible, aim¬ 
less fellow I’ve always been! Don’t worry, 
Vanderbilt. I’ve had some reason to change 
my tune. I shall meet that note.” 

“Of course you will,’* said Fulton. 
“Come, Cornelius.” 

“I have no doubt of Mr. Delavan’s good 
will,” said Vanderbilt. “But—I should be 
easier in my mind did I know precisely how 
he plans to do so.” 

“And I prefer not to tell you—now,” said 
Larry, his good nature unaffected. “In 
case—in case something I am anticipating 
fails to materialize, I have another resource 
—which I do not care to turn to account un¬ 
til—and unless—I must. But I shall do so 
if there is no other way.’* 





78 LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 


“That’s perfectly satisfactory,” said Ful¬ 
ton. 4 6 Come, man—it’s growing late, and 
you know how muck we have to do this 
afternoon!” 

Vanderbilt had no choice, now, but to 
acquiesce in Fulton’s treatment of the sit¬ 
uation, and go. But he gave Delavan 
more than one backward look as he went; 
shook his head, too, gravely and pessimis¬ 
tically. 

Larry, left behind, could hear, all the 
more plainly now, the talk in the next gar¬ 
den. He longed to cross over; the gate be¬ 
tween the two houses was always left un¬ 
locked, for the friendship between Delavans 
and Schuylers was older than any of the 
living bearers of either name. But there 
was Ariana—and what right had he, disin¬ 
herited, penniless, even to look at the heiress 
of the de Puyster wealth % 

Some time—ah, yes! If he rehabilitated 
himself; if through his backing of Fulton, 
or by some other stroke of fortune, he made 



LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 7& 


up for what he had lost, things would be 
different. But as it was his pride forbade 
him to make advances that might, by some, 
be misconstrued. 

He sat for a while on the garden bench, 
thinking, listening. Only the sound of their 
voices came to him; Ariana’s high, changed, 
somehow, by her stay abroad; Betty’s, melo¬ 
dious as ever; Irving’s and Brevoort’s pro¬ 
viding an accompaniment. He could not 
hear their words. But presently the temp¬ 
tation to join them became so strong that he 
grew to fear his power to resist it, and rose, 
and walked slowly toward the house. Bet¬ 
ter go inside, out of harm’s way! 

But he was too late. For even as he rose 
he saw figures at the gate; the next moment 
the party from next door was in his garden, 
and his part was changed from that of en¬ 
vious onlooker to host. 

“I made them come, Larry!” cried Betty, 
gayly. 

Ariana was mincing a little as she walked. 


80 LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 


Larry went to her eagerly, and she held out 
her hand. But as he was about to grasp it 
she lifted it, and, warned by something in 
Brevoort’s look, he realized her intention, 
and, bending, a little stiffly, raised it to his 
lips, instead, and kissed it. 

“Lud—how you’ve changed!” she said. 
“And how small and utterly provincial 
New York does seem after London, to be 
sure!” 

“It must,” said Larry. “You look well, 
Ariana. ” 

“I vow I still feel the motion of that hor¬ 
rid ship, ’’ she said. ‘ 1 If ever I am fortunate 
enough to cross again I declare I shall end 
my days over there!” 

“Oh, never say that!” begged Irving, 
smiling. “Surely you wouldn’t leave us to 
perish in our outer darkness!’* 

“I have a duty here, I do presume,” she 
said, taking him quite seriously, to his vast 
amusement. “My year in London has 
taught me how much we need refinement and 


LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 81 


culture here in New York. How I yearn 
for the quiet refinement of an English draw¬ 
ing room!’ • 

Larry, a little taken aback, flushed angrily 
as he saw Irving wink at Brevoort. He wel¬ 
comed Pat’s sudden appearance in the gar¬ 
den; never saw how much, in her quick 
anger at Ariana’s airs, she was like a little 
bantam rooster. 

“Ah,” he said. “Here is my ward, Pat¬ 
rick O ’Day. Mistress de Puyster—will you 
allow me to introduce Pat to you?” 

i ‘ Lud—a boy! ’ ’ exclaimed Ariana. * 4 How- 
de-do, boy?” She held out her hand, a lit¬ 
tle shrinkingly. And Pat, instead of kissing 
it, as Larry had done, grasped it and gave it 
a vigorous shake. Ariana screamed and 
snatched her hand away. 

“Lud—what an impossible little boy!” she 
exclaimed. 

Pat’s cheeks flamed. 

“Sure!’ ; she said, “and I’m not alone in 
my impossibility, then!” 


82 LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 


“Be still, Pat!” said Larry, angrily. 
“Have you no manners at all?” 

“He’ll learn,” said Ariana. And then, 
ignoring Pat, she turned to Brevoort. 41 But 
I was telling you,” she said, “of what the 
Prince of Wales told me the first time I saw 
him. It was at—” 

“Sure, and I know what he’d be after 
sayin’,” exclaimed Pat. “It was ‘Get out 
of my way!wasn’t it?” 

Ariana stopped, aghast. Irving choked 
down a laugh. Larry, amazed, turned 
angrily on Pat. 

“Go in the house!” he said. “I’ll attend 
to you later. ” 

Pat faced him defiantly. Larry said 
nothing more, but looked her straight in the 
eye. It was the first real clash of their 
wills, and at first Pat faced him bravely 
enough. But her eyes were the first to fall; 
in a few moments her lips began to tremble, 
and she turned, abruptly, in the end, and 
moved to go. But the moment she was freed 


LITTLE OLD NEW; YORK 83 


from Larry’s stern gaze her courage re¬ 
turned. She hesitated a moment as she 
passed Ariana; then completed her progress, 
imitating Ariana’s highly affected walk. 

Brevoort and Irving had much to do to 
conceal their amusement; succeeded poorly 
in doing so, in fact, and so only furnished 
fresh fuel for the flame of Ariana’s indigna¬ 
tion. 

“I—I’m ashamed of him!” said Larry. 
“I can’t imagine wdtat’s come over him. 
I’ll see that he’s properly punished for this, 
I assure you!” 

“A little savage—■” began Ariana. 

“You must make allowances for him, I 
beg,” said Larry. “He has but just come 
here from Ireland—has had, I imagine, no 
mother—no home training of any sort— 

But Ariana was not to be mollified so 
easily. She could forgive almost anything 
more readily than being made to look ridic¬ 
ulous, and she felt that this impossible 
ward of Larry’s had, somehow, managed to 


84 LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 


do just that. She turned indignantly away 
from his excuses. 

“Come, Betty,” she said. “I must take 
refuge in your home.” 

4 6 I beg of you! ’’ said Larry. All his good 
resolutions were forgotten; the spell she had 
cast over him was as strong as it had been 
when, before her trip abroad, she had taken 
delight in playing with him. “Am I to be 
punished for a boy’s rudeness? Won’t you 
forgive me—let me see you again, at least, 
before you go back to Harlem?” 

Ariana decided, it seemed, that it was 
time for her to temper justice with mercy. 

“I could forgive you anything, almost, 
Larry dear, but as for that uncultured little 
brat—” 

Larry frowned. It struck him, suddenly, 
that she was making too much of something 
that was, after all, not so great a matter. 
And—he felt a curious resentment, angry 
as he was with Pat, at hearing abuse heaped 



LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 85 


upon the boy. After all—he had known no 
better. 

“I can do no more than offer you apologies 
—in my name and in his, ’ ’ he said. ‘ 4 If you 
do not choose to accept them—” 

4 ‘Come, come!” said Brevoort. “You 
can’t ask more than that, Ariana! Poor 
Larry has the worst of it—he has to live with 
the boy, and play wet nurse to him!”* 
Irving had drawn a little apart. He was 
beginning to be bored. His sympathies, on 
the whole, were with Pat; he had little use 
for affectations like Ariana’s at any time. 

“Never mind, Larry,” said Betty. 
“Even if Ariana has to go home now, after 
being away so long, you’ll see her soon again. 
She is coming down for the trial trip of Mr. 
Pulton’s new fangled steamboat if he ever 
finishes it, and she’ll be at the party I’m 
giving at my house that night. ” 

“I shall live for that day!” said Larry, 
gallantly. He bowed before Ariana. But 


86 LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 

she, angered by the resentment she had seen 
for a moment in his eyes, turned away with¬ 
out a word. 

“I’m sorry, Larry,” said Betty, as she 
turned to follow. 

“I think we will make our excuses now,” 
said Irving. “I told you we had an engage¬ 
ment with Larry, Betty.”' 

“I know,” she said, concerned. “You— 
oh, don’t let him stay up so late, night after 
night! I hear you, often, in the night—” 

“We must make an end of that, cer¬ 
tainly,” said Brevoort. “Too many would 
hold us to account if anything we did robbed 
Mistress Betty Schuyler of her beauty sleep 
and dimmed the roses in her cheeks!” 

“You need make none of your pretty 
speeches to me, Henry Brevoort!” said 
Betty. “Save them for Ariana—I believe 
she has grown used to them!”' 

“Not from me,” said Brevoort, beneath 
his breath. 



LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 87 

“ Nor from me! ’’ Irving echoed. c ‘ Come, 
Henry.’ ’ 

They followed Larry, who had already 
gone into the house—to he met by a penitent 
Pat. 

“I hope you’ll be forgiving me,” she said. 
“I’d no call to be rude—but, I declare, that 
mincing miss would try the patience of a 
saint!” 

“I’ve no time to talk to you now,” said 
Larry, gruffly. “Be off with you—and try 
to learn to keep a civil tongue in your head 
when you meet ladies, or I’ll be trying 
whether a switch will teach you manners!” 




CHAPTER VIII 

Irving and Brevoort, as Reilley, taking 
their coming as a sign, set out glasses and 
decanters on the great table, looked at one 
another. Brevoort shrugged his shoulders. 

“I feel as you do, Wash,” he said, “but 
what is one to do ? A man in love is blind! ’ 1 

“Deaf, too—and if nature were wise, he’d 
be dumb as well! ’ ’ said Irving, with a show 
of irritation. “Hang it, Henry—the boy’s 
instinct is sound! He sees she’s nothing 
but a bunch of affectations, without a brain 
in her head—or a heart in her body!” 

“Granted—but Larry doesn’t feel so,” 
said Brevoort. “And I suppose it’s his af¬ 
fair. 

“We can’t make it ours—that much is 

sure,’* 2 said Irving. “Ah— well—there’s 

88 



LITTLE OLD NEW YOKE 89 


this much comfort—it’s a long way to Har¬ 
lem, and Larry has no coach to order out 
these days when he’s of a mind to make that 
journey—no horse to mount, either. Pov¬ 
erty may be a blessing in disguise to him 
yet.” 

“In my experience,” said Brevoort, “fate 
can’t be thwarted in such matters. Look 
at the good men we know wko’ve gone wrong 
at the altar, Wash! Yet they mock us for 
remaining single!” 

“It’s a hard life we lead, we bachelors,’* 
said Irving, with a prodigious sigh. “Isn’t 
it, Larry ? ’ ’ For Delavan came in just then. 
“For example—there’s a main of good birds 
in Hoboken to-night, where the officers mind 
their own affair. And here we are, Henry 
and I, possessed and bound to go—and never 
a wife between us to bid us stay at home! 
Ah, me!” 

“A main to-night?” said Larry, brighten¬ 
ing at the news. ‘ ‘ I had not heard of that! ” 

“_We heard but an hour ago,*’ said Bre- 



90 LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 


voort. “It gave us time to plead our ex¬ 
cuses at a rout. yVe count upon you, then, 
Larry ?” 

“Would I be likely to miss good sport?” 
asked Larry. “Good fellowship, as well— 
and the good liquor that will flow? «What 
else is there these days to make life worth 
the living!” 

“Little enough,” said Irving. 

“I’ve another reason for going across the 
river to-night,” said Brevoort. “The Ho¬ 
boken Terror is to spar a round or two and 
show his points. From all I hear the man’s 
a great fighter.” 

“I’ve seen him,”' said Larry, carelessly. 
“Good enough—but more formidable in 
looks than in the ring.” 

“I think you’re wrong, Larry. I hear 
there’s no man on this side of the water fit 
to stand up to him.’ 2 

“It’s you are wrong!’* said Larry, laugh¬ 
ing. “Why, right here we’ve his match— 
Bully Boy Brewster, at the fire house! I 


LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 91 


was to be Brewster’s backer in a fight 
against him. It’s one of my sore troubles 
that I’ve had to tell him I can’t do it.” 

“It needn’t be,” said Brevoort, dryly. 
“Losing your money saved you some there, 
Larry. Brewster’s but a big bag of wind. 
If he had his sister’s courage, now —’ 2 

“Rachel?” Irving’s laughter rang out. 
“There’s a Tartar if you please!” 

“Is she not?’’ said Larry, echoing his 
laugh. “If you could have seen her stand 
up to me when I broke the news to them! 
He took it as mildly as you please, but you’d 
have thought that I was cheating them, to 
hear her take on! ’ 1 

“She’s his trainer, I hear,” said Irving. 

‘ ‘ That is so, ’ ’ said Brevoort. c 1 She trains 
him—and spars with him, too—and gives a 
shrewd blow. Takes one, too—she’s like a 
vixen if he remembers her sex and deals 
softly with her. ’ ’ 

“No matter about that,” said Larry. 
“Brewster knows more of boxing than the 


92 LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 


Terror. He’s not so strong, perhaps—less 
of a brute. But he has science and skill, 
and knows how to make them count. The 
Terror’s a wild fighter—he goes in swinging 
his arms like flails. He can hurt a man 
when he drives home a blow—but Brewster’s 
faster on his feet, shiftier, cleverer in every 
way. He can keep out of harm’s way and 
wear the other down.” 

“So others have thought, that fought the 
Terror and never knew what struck them!’^ 
said Brevoort. “It would not be a good 
fight, even, Larry. You’re well out of any 
part in it—especially if your money were 
up on Brewster.” 

Larry lifted his glass. 

4 ‘ Here’s a toast! ” he said. ‘ ‘ To our three 
selves—I know none better! ’ ’ 

They drank it heartily—and voted the 
toast so good a one that each, in turn, must 
propose one like it. Reilley, filling the 
glasses, smiled. Some might say that these 
young men drank too much. But Reilley 





LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 93 


knew their lives were clean; knew how they 
drank, and that they were not of the sort 
upon whom habit takes a damning hold. 
Let them have their fling! The time would 
come for them to settle down, and they 
would know it. And meanwhile they were 
storing up a treasure of rich memories for 
the years to come; memories of gayety and 
lively youth. 

Their talk went on. It touched upon all 
the simple phases of the young city’s life. 
This one remembered some gay adventure 
of the past; another capped his story. Bre- 
voort, with a subtle design, perhaps, remem¬ 
bered tales of London; curious, how differ¬ 
ent his stories were from Ariana’s! And 
both Irving and Larry knew that their 
friend spoke by the book; that he had diced 
at Almack’s and at Brooks’; that the Prince 
Regent had paid him special honor; that 
Bath and Tunbridge Wells alike had hailed 
him, even in the great day of the all powerful 
beaux. 



94 LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 


Light talk it was; innocent enough, for all 
the strong spice there was in it. But to 
Pat’s ears it came as the revelation of a de¬ 
bauchery, a profligacy, unsuspected hither¬ 
to. They knew, vaguely, that the boy was 
about—that he might be hearing what they 
said. But why should they think of that? 
A boy must grow to be a man; must learn, 
some time, how men live and how they talk 
among themselves. 

What to a boy, however, would have mat¬ 
tered little was to Pat serious, almost tragic. 
Brevoort and Irving she had been disposed 
to like. But now she looked upon them with 
new eyes. Of course she made, for Larry, 
all manner of excuses! He was not, of him¬ 
self, like this; he was being led astray by 
bad companions! Willingly? Perhaps! 
But that was her fault. He was seeking to 
forget the troubles she had brought upon 
him. 

Open protest she dared not make. She 
had been rebuffed too often already to risk 



LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 95 


another rebuke for interference. Yet she 
was desperately minded to do something; to 
seek, by any means at her command, to pre¬ 
vent Larry from keeping this engagement, 
that would mean just another night away 
from home, and drinking, and—who knew 
what else beside ? 

Brevoort and Irving, laughing, went off; 
they promised, as they went, to be back with¬ 
in the hour to fetch Larry, and he, in his 
turn, vowed that he’d be ready for them and 
for whatever sport the night might have in 
store. 

Pat sat still, wringing her hands in her 
helplessness. Then a thought came to her, 
and she stole silently upstairs, to return, 
presently, bearing her beloved harp. Larry 
still sat at the table, his head bowed. Reilley 
went up to him and spoke, and Pat heard 
his answer: 

“No—no—I couldn’t eat! Bring more 
wine and a fresh glass!” 

Reilley obeyed. And Pat, sitting in the 



96 LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 


shadows, touched her harp. Both men 
turned, in surprise; Larry scowled. But 
Pat, for once, was bold. Her voice, low and 
sweet, filled the old room as she sang to the 
harp’s accompaniment: 

“Do ye hear me callin’ 

When the dews are fallin ’ ? 

I am lonesome waitin’, ’neath the weepin’ willow 
tree, 

Oh, my heart is weary, 

Waitin’ for my dearie, 

Oh, can’t you hear me callin’ you to come to me?” 

i 

Her voice broke a little on the last phrase, 
and she sat still, looking eagerly and stead¬ 
fastly at Larry. For a moment he sat still; 
then he beckoned to her, and, shyly, she went 
toward him. 

“That’s a pretty song, boy,’ 2 he said. 
“Where did you learn it?” 

“Sure, I’ve heard my mother sing it, 
many’s the time, when she’d be putting me 
and my br—my sister, to sleep.” 

“Your sister?” In his preoccupation 


LITTLE OLD NEW YOEK 97 

with his own affairs Larry never heeded her 
slip of the tongue. 

Pat’s eyes tilled with tears. 

“I had a—sister,” she said. “She—died 
on the ship, cornin’ over.” 

“I didn’t know that, Pat,” said Larry, 
moved. “I—I think perhaps I’ve been 
none too kind to you. You’ve had a hard 
time, haven’t yon?” 

“No w T orse than I deserved, most like,” 
said Pat. 

Poor Pat! She was learning, indeed, how 
hard is the way of the transgressor! If it 
was hard to bear when Larry was brusque 
and rough in his dealings with her, it was a 
thousand times worse when he was gentle 
and kind, like this! But she shook her head, 
doggedly. Her father lay upstairs; she had 
seen him, but just now, when she went for 
her harp, with his fading eyes fixed grimly 
upon some vision of revenge. Her feet 
must follow the road upon which they had 
been set, no matter how rough it proved 




98 LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 


to be, bow paved with flints and stones. 

“You’re too young to feel so, Pat,” said 
Larry. He sighed. “The world’s before 
you. It’s a good world, Pat, for those who 
face it as you do. And you’ve come to a 
new land and a rich land. You ’ve an inheri¬ 
tance of more than money to make you 
happy. ’■ 1 

6 6 Money! ’ ’ cried Pat, passionately. ‘ ‘ Sure 
and I hate the name of the dirty stuff! 
I’m thinkin’ it makes more misery and un¬ 
happiness than it can ever cure!’ 1 

Larry laughed. 

“You’ll grow used to it, Pat,” he said. 
“It’s like vice—what is it Mr. Pope wrote 
of vice? ‘Yet, seen too oft, familiar with 
her face, We first endure, then pity, then 
embrace! ’ 

“I’ll have none of it!” cried Pat. 

“Mr. Astor will have something to say to 
that,” said Larry, with a laugh. “Take 
your harp again, Pat—I like to hear you 
sing.’ 1 



LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 99 


Delighted, Pat obeyed. But as she looked 
at Larry she saw the worried look in his 
eyes again. She hesitated. Then: 

“Sure, if it’s the money for Mr. Fulton 
you’re worryin’ for, sir,” she said, “couldn’t 
I he lettin’ you have some of my inheritance 
to useT* 

Larry stared at her. Just for a moment 
he played with the idea; then he shook his 
head, and gave a short, curt laugh. 

“No, no,’’ he said. ‘‘There’s nothing you 
could do to help me, hoy. Sing again—it’s 
all I ask of you.’* 

Pat shrank hack, hurt. But her fingers 
stole again over the harp’s strings. It was 
dark; only the flickering light of the candles 
Reilley had come in, some time before, to 
light, set the shadows to dancing on the 
walls. And then, just as her voice took up 
the air from the harp, the door was flung 
open, and the room was flooded with light. 
Brevoort stood in the doorway, cloaked and 
ready; behind him were Irving and Halleck. 



*> > # 



100 LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 


“Ho, Larry—here we are!” he cried. 
“Time to be off, man!” 

Larry sprang up. It took him a full 
minute to shake off the mood the darkness 
and the soft music of harp and voice had 
aroused in him. 

“A minute to be ready and I’m with you!’’ 
he called. “Ho, Reilley—fresh glasses— 
more wine for these gentlemen, while they 
wait for me!” 

“A moment only,” said Brevoort, impa¬ 
tiently. “I’ve entered my best bird at the 
last minute, and I’m betting three to 
one! ’ ’ 

“Three to one?” Larry exclaimed. “Eh 
—I must have some of your money at those 
odds, Llenry! Let me see—” 

He took his wallet from his pocket. It 
held money; money he had scraped together 
for the payment of pressing bills. But here 
was a chance to treble it! He knew Bre¬ 
voort’s bird; it lacked heart; for all the 
beauty that it had, and all its strutting, some 


LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 101 


ragamuffin of the pit would strike it with 
its spur. 

“Is it betting again you’d be!” cried Pat, 
angrily. “Sir—” She turned on Bre- 
voort. “Have you no heart, that you’d be 
takin’ away the little he has left?” 

Brevoort laughed; only Irving looked 
serious. All the softness that had, a mo¬ 
ment before, ruled Larry’s mood was gone. 
He turned sternly upon Pat. 

“Mind your own business, hoy!” he said 
gruffly. “I’m the .judge of my own conduct 
—and of yours, remember! Go to your 
father—he has need of you.” 

Pat shrank away. But her spirit asserted 
itself for a moment. 

“Sure,” she said, “he’d be dead now if he 
depended on your attention or your kind¬ 
ness f” 

Larry ignored that, save for a wave of his 
hand. And Pat, beaten, disconsolate, full of 
anger against Brevoort and the others, was 
obliged to turn away and mount the stairs. 



CHAPTER IX 


True enough it was, as Larry had said, 
that John O’Day was in need. But he 
needed more than Pat, with all her love, all 
her memory of the sad years behind them, 
could give him. 

She went slowly up the stairs; turned, 
once, a solitary, pathetic little figure, to look 
at Larry. But he had no eyes for her; no 
ears for the faint voice with which she called 
to him. But Irving heard, and gave her a 
kind look, and a friendly wave of the hand, 
that she was long to remember. 

Upstairs, in his room, John O’Day lay 
still upon his bed. His eyes were closed; 
his breath came fast. There had been a 
change since Pat had seen him last; even in 
an hour something terrible and mysterious 
had happened. 


102 


LITTLE OLD NEW" YOKK 103 


John O’Day was in need indeed; in the 

last extremity of need. But Pat, flinging 

herself down upon the floor beside his bed, 

for all her wealth in what he needed, had no 
• 

power to help him. He needed youth, and 
health, and hope; he was bankrupt at last 
in those things, that are the true and very 
staff of life. 

“Father!” she cried. “Oh, Father—can 
you not speak to me ? ’ ’ 

Slowly he opened his eyes. 

“Pat?” he said, weakly. “Is it yourself, 
Pat? I had a dream. I dreamed I heard 
your mother play the harp—I heard her 
singing, in my dream. I’m thinking it’ll 
not be long before I’m with her once again— 
if the dear saints are kind to me and let me 
win to her. Me death is near upon me, 
Pat.” 

She started to her feet. Young as she 
was, she had seen death hovering above a 
bed before, and knew he spoke the truth. 
She ran to the door, and called. 


104 LITTLE OLD NEW YOLK 


“Reilley!” slie cried. “Reilley!” 

He came up the stairs, muttering a little; 
he was tired. Pat clung to him, weeping a 
little, now. 

“Oh, Reilley!” she said. “Sure, and 
you’re the only friend we have in all Amer¬ 
ica! Here’s my father lyin’ with his death 
upon him! Can you no he fetchin’ a doctor 
for to see him?” 

“A doctor, is it? Sure, and I’m some¬ 
thing of that meself—did I not serve as sur¬ 
geon under General Washington? I’ll be 
havin’ a look at him meself, hoy.”* 

He went into the room, and stood, looking 
gravely down at the old man. Pat’s eyes 
clung to him. Slowly he shook his head. 
And Pat understood—and, understanding, 
knew only what she had been sure of from 
the first. The end had come. O’Day lay 
still; for a moment Pat, catching her breath, 
thought that he had gone. But he opened 
his eyes again; raised his hand, feebly. He 
looked straight at Reilley. 


LITTLE OLD NEW YOLK 105 


“Is it dyin’ I am? Tell me the truth, as 
you would be judged!” 

Reilley bowed his head. 

“It is so,” he said. “Your time is come 
upon you here and now.” 

O ’Day lay still; he seemed to be gathering 
the little strength that was left to him for 
some great and final effort. 

i 6 Go, then, you, ’ ’ he whispered. ‘ 6 1 would 
be alone with him a moment before I die.” 

Pat cried out at that, and Reilley hesi¬ 
tated, his instinct bidding him to remain. 
But the dying man was insistent; his anger 
was a terrible thing to see. 

“ ’Tis well—there’s nothing I can do, in 
any case,” he said to Pat. “There is no 
harm in granting what he wills—it will be 
the last time.” 

And slowly with a pitying look for Pat, 
he went out. 

“Come close!” said O’Day to Pat. As 
she obeyed he lifted himself; with a last put¬ 
ting out of his great strength he seized her 




106 LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 


shoulders and crushed her down upon her 
knees. In that instant he was no longer the 
feeble, aged man Pat had known of late; all 
his old energy was his again for a moment. 

44 Swear as you see me dyin’!” he said. 
44 Swear by your mother’s memory—by the 
memory of him we cast into the sea—by all 
the love there is between us—that you’ll do 
all that lies within your power to trick and 
beat the last of the damn Delavans!” 

Pat cried out in agony. In this supreme 
moment she had no thought or care for any¬ 
thing or any one save her father—the last 
of her own race. Dying—going away, to 
leave her, alone indeed, in this strange land! 

4 4 Swear! ” he said again. 4 4 Girl—I would 
be dyin’—my call has come! Do you not be 
hoi din’ me here, when the holy saints are 
callin’ to me to come! Swear!’ 5 

Trembling, she obeyed. She raised one 
hand, and swore. 

44 I swear it, Father!” she said, sobs shak¬ 
ing her. 44 I will do as you want!’ 5 



LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 107 


The hands that crushed her slender shoul¬ 
ders relaxed. With a great sigh John 
O’Day’s head sank back upon the pillows. 
A single shudder shook him; then he lay still. 
Pat clung to him a moment; started up, 
then, with a scream. She stood still, her 
eyes, for an instant, void of tears, looking 
down at him. And then she screamed 
again. 

The door opened, and Reilley came in. A 
glance showed him what had happened. 
Pat dropped to her knees beside the bed; her 
tears came, now, in a great flood. Her arms 
were about her father; for ail her knowledge 
that he had gone from her, never to return, 
she begged him, again and again, to speak to 
her. 

Very gently Reilley disengaged her arms; 
raised her; led her across the^room to the 
door. 

“Do you leave me with him now for a 
space, Pat,” he said. “I know what’s need¬ 
ful, and he shall have such honor as the best 


108 LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 


in all the land. I’ll come to you as soon as 
may be.” 

Sorrowfully, he stood and watched her, as 
reeling a little, she went to the stairs. She 
hesitated at the door of her own room; then, 
with a shudder, passed on, and went down. 
He sighed as he turned back to the death 
chamber and went in, closing the door be¬ 
hind him. 

Outside it was still dark. Pat went down 
the stairs; sank down, at their foot, in a lit¬ 
tle, crumpled, sobbing heap. There she sat, 
through what remained of the night. She 
heard the watchman outside; the crowing of 
a cock, while it was still dark. She saw the 
long shadows begin to lighten; the coming 
of the dawn. Outside the sleeping city 
stirred; began to waken. 

Reilley came to her; tried to rouse her, to 
induce her to go to her own room and gain a 
little sleep. She only shook her head and 
wept the harder. And, with the understand¬ 
ing of his years, he made no great effort to 



Cosmopolitan Photoplay. Little Old New York. 

PATRICIA “ ACTS UP” AND IS REPRIMANDED BY LARRY. 

M arv Kennedy. Georire Berraud. Harrison Ford. Marion Davies. Gvnsv O’Brien. Mahlon Hamilton 











LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 109 


persuade her; he knew that she must deal 
with her grief alone; knew that the human 
spirit, in the times of great crisis and of 
great grief that come to it, is a lonely thing, 
that must find and work out its own salva¬ 
tion. 

So she sat on the stairs. The growing 
light of the dawn stole in upon her there. 
None of the waking sounds without pene¬ 
trated the silent chamber of her grief. She 
dwelt in a place of memories. 

Far and far away, across three thousand 
miles of water, her spirit was wandering. 
She was with all those whom she had loved 
and lost. Her mother’s voice, crooning a 
lullaby, was in her ears. She saw her 
brother, creeping in his baby days. She felt 
her father’s strong arms, lifting her high 
upon his shoulder. She heard the sound of 
friendly voices, raised in song and jest, 
about the family board, in the good days be¬ 
fore the money went. 

Other memories came to her. Ireland— 


110 LITTLE OLD NEW YOHK 


ah, Ireland! Memories of grief and trouble 
■—but bow they were touched now by the 
contrast of this deeper woe! How gladly, 
now, she would have been again in the bar¬ 
ren house, the day the lawyer came with 
what had seemed such dazzling news of 
wealth and fortune! How empty was all 
the promise he had held out! How bitter 
had the fulfillment of that promise proved 
to be! 

And what still lay before her ? Her spirit 
quailed at the anticipation of the dark days 
to come! She must go on; she was doubly, 
trebly, bound by that solemn and terrible 
oath that she had sworn. At the cost of her 
own peace, her own chance of happiness, she 
had made it possible for her father’s spirit 
to pass on in peace and comfort. There 
could be no release now for her. She must 
go on; drink to its dregs the bitter cup her 
father, in his love, had raised to her lips. 

Larry . . . Ah, but she could not bear to 
think of him! So kind, so generous, in one 


LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 111 


mood; so liarsli and cruel in another! And 
yet—what claim had she upon his kindness, 
his forbearance? She was his ruin; it was 
to her he owed all that was destroying the 
fine spirit of his youth. 

The sound of voices, raised in riotous, 
ribald song stole through her memories, her 
forebodings. They brought her back to the 
moment in which she must live and move 
and have her being. She raised her head to 
listen. One voice rang out in that wild 
chorus that set her heart to a mad beating in 
her breast. Her hand went to her heart as 
she listened. It was an old, familiar song 
that came to her: 

“Were to fade from my vision, 

And melt from my arms, 

Li-ike fairy gifts, fading away— 5 
Thou would ’st still, be beloved, 

As this moment thou art, 

Let thy loveliness fade as it will! ’’ 

An uproar of voices broke in upon the 
song. 


112 LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 


“ You ’ll have the watch upon us, Larry— 
have done—have done! Here you are home, 
man! ’ ’ 

“That’s old Schuyler’s window—you’ll 
have him calling our loans! ’ ’ 

“Good night—good night! I promised 
to see you home—who—hie—who’ll do as 
much for me ? ’ ’ 

“And that bird of Henry’s could fight 
after all! I vow the other bird was a cow¬ 
ard!” 

“Who cares? The sport’s the thing— 
and may the best man—I mean the best bird! 
—win! ’ ’ 

“Good night—good night! Take care, 
Halleck—don’t let old Astor see you stagger¬ 
ing like that later in the day!” 

“You—Wash—you drink all night—and 
then you see everything still, with those fish 
eyes of yours! ’ ’ 

“Good night, Larry—hey, there—knock 
upon his door, one of you—he’s not able! 
Louder—louder—Reilley sleeps fast—!” 








LITTLE OLD NEW YOLK 113 


Pat heard Reilley, moving above her, 
grumbling as he came down the stairs. And 
Larry’s voice, outside: 

“I’ll keep the rascal no longer—sleeping 
while I cool my heels outside! Good night, 
Henry—good night! Come in the morning 
for my I. O. U. !” j 

Reilley had the door open at last. And 
Pat, her tragic eyes wide and staring, saw 
Larry stagger in and fall into a chair. 

“Wine, Reilley!” he called. “More wine 
—’tis the only cure!’^ • 

He saw Pat. He pointed a shaking finger. 
“Go to bed, boy!” he called. “Go to bed 
before I have you whipped!” i 

Reilley bent low and whispered in his ear. 
Slowly the meaning of his words seemed to 
sink into Larry’s benumbed brain. He got 
up, unsteadily; lurched a little as he took a 
faltering step. He stared at the silent little 
figure on the stairs. He pulled himself to¬ 
gether as he walked on; slowly the fumes of 
wine in his head gave way. 


114 LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 

t 

By the time he reached her and stood over 
her his mind was clear. It was with sober, 
pitiful eyes that he looked down at her. 

“Pat—” he said. “Boy — n 

But he had no words to use to comfort 
her. Instinctively he put his hand upon her 
shoulder; felt the sigh that shook her at his 
touch. She opened her eyes at last, and 
looked up at him, and he bent again, and 
raised her, slowly; stood, then, his arm 
about her shoulders. 

6 ‘1’m—I ? m sorry, Pat, ’ ’ he said. ‘ ‘ There 
—there’s nothing I can say. He was an old 
man. He has found peace. And you—you 
aren’t left quite alone, you know. I’m 
afraid I’m a poor sort of one to do it—but 
I must try to take your father’s place.” 

Sobs shook her again. But as he looked 
at her she made an effort; a wistful little 
smile curved her lips for a moment. 

“Let’s shake hands on it, Pat, ,? said 
Larry. 



CHAPTER X 

Life, always, and never death', rules youth. 
Pat had loved her father dearly; she 
mourned him deeply. But the youth in her 
turned to the life about her; to all the future 
held of promise. It was a new sort of life, 
different from any she had ever known, hap¬ 
pier, fuller, that she was living now. 
Larry’s sharp intolerance had not shown it¬ 
self again since her father’s death; he took 
an increasing interest in her. He was re¬ 
solved that Pat should learn all that it be¬ 
came a boy of his station and his prospects to 
know; he took his duties as a guardian so 
seriously that Brevoort took to rallying 
him. 

There were fewer trips to Hoboken now¬ 
adays—nowanights, rather! Larry had 
given up drinking, to a great extent. But 

115 


116 LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 


Pat, with the shrewdness he was far from 
suspecting her to possess, knew that his re¬ 
form had by no means been complete. 

Even in her grief, on the night of her 
father’s death, she had remembered his 
wager with Brevoort, against wdiich she had 
cried out—and she had heard, too, even as 
she sat on the stairs, the talk that had told 
her he had lost. Another I. 0. U.! And 
the unpaid bills! And every day brought 
nearer that upon which the note for ten 
thousand dollars must be met at Mr. Schuy¬ 
ler’s bank. 

She had guessed his plan; she had been 
certain, from the first, that Larry meant, if 
necessity drove him so far, to give up his 
home; all that was left of what had once 
been the great Delavan fortune, to meet that 
note and clear himself of debt. But, for all 
her youth, Pat was a shrewder dealer with 
affairs than Larry seemed likely ever to 
become. 

She could get whatever she wanted out of 


LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 117 


Reilley, and from him she had gained a very 
fair idea of the extent of Larry’s indebted¬ 
ness. The figures were staggering—and she 
knew, only too well, that every day, or, rather, 
again, every night, saw them mounting higher 
and higher. And she had made it her business 
to cultivate Halleck, the good natured and 
easy going, who, for all his lightness of 
spirit, was, perforce, learning something 
from his association with Astor. 

From Halleck, thanks to judicious ques¬ 
tions, asked with a diligent care to conceal 
the information she really sought, she had 
gained a knowledge of property values in 
New York that would have astonished Astor 
himself—and gratified him highly, too! 
She was very far from sharing the general 
view that Astor, with his fad for buying 
land, was crazy; he was rather, she thought, 
laying the foundation of a great fortune, 
that would endure long after the enterprises 
of some of those who ridiculed him were 
forgotten. 



118 LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 


It was a simple matter for Pat to put two 
and two together. And it was plain to her 
that Larry was letting his hopes run away 
with his judgment. He was sinking deeper 
and deeper into the morass of debt, and the 
means of escape he trusted were sure to 
disappoint him; of so much she was certain. 
The old Delavan house meant much to him; 
its value to him, indeed, was greater than to 
any one else—so much greater that there 
was, even now, no chance that, should he be 
forced to sell it, he could realize enough to 
pay his debts. 

And the whole town was buzzing, now, 
with the talk of Mr. Fulton, and the trial trip 
his steamboat, the Clermont, was presently 
to undertake upon the Hudson. She had 
heard Fulton talking; he was supremely con¬ 
fident of success; Vanderbilt, too, in his talk 
with Larry, had said there was no longer 
any doubt. But Vanderbilt had been press¬ 
ing about the urgency of meeting the 
note. 


LITTLE OLD NEW YOHK 119 


“It won’t be renewed, Mr. Delavan,” lie 
said. ‘ ‘I know old Schuyler too well to have 
any hopes of that. It must he met when it 
falls due—or he will take the Clermont.’* 

“I know—I know,” Larry had said, im¬ 
patiently. * 4 Don’t harp forever on that 
string, Vanderhilt! I ’ve given you my word 
—let that be enough to satisfy you, as it is 
enough to satisfy Mr. Fulton. He, after all, 
has more at stake than any of us.” 

“And cares less for the outcome!’ 5 ^ mut¬ 
tered Vanderbilt. “So long as his steam¬ 
boat runs money matters not at all to him! 
I am not like that.” 

“I understand his feeling, too,” said 
Larry. “Gad—to have a brain like his! 
To dream of something—and make that 
dream come true! To fight and conquer 
nature—the winds—the tides—to free man 
from more of his ancient bondages! There’s 
something worth the doing, Vanderbilt !” j 

“Why, it’s as I feel myself,”- Vanderbilt 
said, dryly. “And it’s well to remember 




120 LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 


that dreamers have ever needed practical 
men to smooth the way for making those 
dreams of theirs come true.” 

“Well, I shall do my part—have no fear 
for that! 7 7 said Larry. 

But he could not. Pat knew, only too 
well, that when the crisis came, other claims 
could he, and would be, preferred before 
that which dealt with the money that would 
free the Clermont; that the bank’s claim, 
secured as it was, and amply, by all that 
Eulton had to show for his long labors, would 
have to yield the preference, so far as 
Larry’s too scanty assets went, to creditors 
without other security. 

Larry was, she knew, to blame; he had 
been criminally careless. Yet he had meant 
well! He had gambled, to be sure, in this 
last month—but with how high a purpose? 
She had heard him tell Reilley, once, that so 
bad a run of luck as his must turn. 

“And then—how quickly I’ll get back my 
own!” he cried. “A single lucky night— 



LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 121 


some stroke of fortune—and tlie laugh will 
be to me again!’’ 

So his forbears had thought—and the way 
the Delavan fortune had melted to nothing 
in three generations was proof of their lack 
of wisdom. But for Larry the past, as yet, 
held no lessons; his eyes were for the future 
only. 

So it was that, on the day before the 
wealth and fashion of New York had been 
bidden to assist at the Clermont's trial trip, 
Pat made her way, secretly and alone, to call 
upon the executor of her uncle’s will. ! 

She knew where to find him—in the shop 
that, for sign, bore his name, and the legend 
of the wares in which he dealt—pianos, mu¬ 
sical instruments, furs. Fortune was with 
her at the outset, for Halleck spied her, 
from the office behind the counter, and came 
out to greet her. ? 

“What brings you here, Pat?” he asked. 
“I think your credit’s good—I’ll find some 
one to wait upon you.” 




122 LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 


“No, no—it’s not that,” said Pat. “Mr. 
Halleck—could I be seein’ Mr. Astor pri¬ 
vately—and will ye promise never to tell 
Larry that I’ve been here?’ 2 

“What mischief are you in? ?i said Hal¬ 
leck. But then he laughed. “Of course 
III not tell him, Pat. Why shouldn’t you 
see Mr. Astor if you’ve a mind to do so? 
Come with me.” 

He led Pat back into the counting room. 
Astor was busy at his desk. Great real es¬ 
tate maps of the city were spread before 
him; he was adding figures. He smiled as 
he saw Pat. 

i ‘ How are you, boy ? ” he said. ‘ ‘ Sit down 
beside me here. Halleck—will you put on 
your hat, and go and tell Delmonico that I 
am ready now to talk to him about the lease 
he wants in Beaver street?” 

“Yes, sir,” said Halleck. He stood in 
much awe of Astor. 

“Now, what can I do for you, my boy?” 
said Astor. 





LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 123 

“Please—you can give me ten thousand 
dollars of my money, ’ ■ said Pat. 

‘‘ Ten—thousand—dollars!’ ’ said Astor. 
He leaned back in his chair, staring at Pat 
in his surprise. “My boy—that is a great 
sum of money. Men have worked all their 
lives long and never known what it was to 
earn so much! And you come in and ask 
for it as it might be for a shilling!” 

‘ ‘ But—the money’s mine! 7 ’ said Pat—who 
stood in awe neither of Astor nor any other 
man. 

“So—so—but with conditions, yet 
awhile,” said Astor. “Your uncle knew 
that you were young, my boy, and he have 
named me to see to it that your money is 
wisely spent, in ways that will bring you 
profit and good use, until you are old enough 
to have learned some wisdom for yourself. ” j 

“But—I shall never want it so badly 
again!’ 2 said Pat, pleadingly. 

“And you must remember this, 22 Astor 
went on, as if Pat had not spoken at all. 




124 LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 


“This money is not mine—it is yours. 
When you are twenty-one it will he my duty 
to give it all to you. And first, I must go 
before the judge, and tell him how I have 
cared for what was yours. I must account 
for every penny I have spent. What 
should I tell him of this ten thousand dollars 
if I gave it to you when you ask'?” 

“Sure and that I asked for me own!” said 
Pat. 

“Ja—and what would he do then, think 
you?” said Astor. “He would say: ‘That 
is all very fine, Mr. Astor. But here is ten 
thousand dollars gone from this estate. 
Jou sav this hoy spent it. But you were re¬ 
sponsible. So—you will give hack that 
money—or I will send you to jail.’ That is 
the way it would he.” 

Pat stared. 

‘‘ Sure, and it’s a queer country where your 
own is not your own at all!” she said. 

“You will tell me for what you want this 
money—no ? Perhaps you are right. Per- 






LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 125 


haps I should give it to you. Who knows ? 
But you must tell me first.’ 1 

“Sure, and that was just what I was after 
wantin* not to do!” said Pat. “Still, and 
all—if I must, I must. But will you prom¬ 
ise not to tell Larry Delavan what I shall .' 
tell you?” 

Now, no man in New York liked less than 
Astor to commit himself without full knowl¬ 
edge of the facts. But Pat’s earnestness 
made him laugh, and he nodded. 

“It is to help him that I want it,” she saidJ 
And she explained, with a grasp of detail 
that amazed the old merchant, the situation 
in which Larry stood. “So, you see—he 
must have ten thousand dollars, or they will 
lose all.” 

Astor shook his head. 

t 

“I could not do it—and I would not,” he 

i 

said. “You have seen where this Larry, 
has come by gambling—and you would gam¬ 
ble ten thousand dollars on this tin kettle of 
Mr. Fulton’s! My boy—no. I would like. 



126 LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 


to make a business man of you, not a gambler 
like Larry Delavan.” 

“But—Mr. Fulton will succeed!” said 
Pat. 

Astor shook his head, doggedly. 

“Steamboats will never amount to any¬ 
thing/’ he said. “Landach, the land you 
buy is always there! See! ” 

He pointed to a spot on one of the maps. 

“There is Gramercy Pond. I have just 
received ten thousand dollars of your money 
from a mortgage that was paid, and I meant 
to use it to buy this land. A few years from 
now it will be worth more than all the in¬ 
ventions Mr. Fulton will ever make!” 

“But—but—that won’t help Larry Dela¬ 
van!” said Pat. “Please, Mr. Astor—” 

“No,” j he said. “It is useless to argue. 
I have made up my mind.” 

For a moment Pat was close to giving 
vent to her feelings. But she dared not. 
After all—who was she to become imperious 
—to assert her rights ? 


LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 127 


“Ah, Mr. Astor, it’s not arguin’ I’d be,” j 
she said, with a swift transition. “Sure, 
and you’ll know better than a lad like me 
what’s wise. How will you be buyin’ this 
land for me? Will you count out the dol¬ 
lars, one by one?’-’ 

Astor laughed. 

“We don’t waste time that way in busi¬ 
ness, Pat,’-’ he said. “No—and this is a 
good chance for you to begin to learn some 
of the things you’ll have need to know later, 
;when you have the control of your property 
in your own hands. 

“See—here is a check for the money that 
was paid to me for you. That means that 
the bank will pay me so much. But instead 
of taking out the money in cash, I will make 
out a draft on the bank, for ten thousand 
dollars. I will give that to the owner of the 
property, and he will give me a deed.’’ 

Pat had no need to affect interest in this 
explanation. She was absorbed—for in her 
busy mind there was taking form, slowly, a 



128 LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 


plan by which she might be able to circum¬ 
vent Astor and bring Larry the help he 
needed. The time was growing desperately 
short. This was the day of the great ball 
the Schuylers were giving in honor of Mr. 
Eulton—beginning, at last, to be a prophet 
not without honor, even in his own city. 
And to-morrow the Clermont, with the 
fashion and the beauty of the town aboard, 
was to make her trial trip. 



CHAPTER XI 


At Larry Delavan’s, that night, Irving, 
Brevoort and Halleck, his customary com¬ 
panions, appeared early. They were all 
going to the Schuyler hall, of course; it was 
convenient to meet at Larry’s and so go to¬ 
gether. Moreover, Reilley brewed stronger 
punch, and better, than Schuyler was wont 
to serve. Again, here was a chance to sit 
at ease and watch the arrival of the guests, 
and of that they took a full advantage. 

Bowling Green was transformed that 
night. Lanterns were strung in Schuyler’s 
garden, making the scene gay; links boys 
carried their flaring torches. And coaches 
and carriages rolled up in a steady stream. 
Some of the guests had come far; there were 
house parties everywhere, for the accom¬ 
modation of those, like Ariana de Puyster, 

129 


130 LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 


who had journeyed even from distant Har¬ 
lem. 

Much was to be made, at last, of Mr. Rob¬ 
ert Fulton. New York had awakened, a 
little late, but still in time, to the realization 
that it harbored a great man, one who bade 
fair to become a celebrity. It had ignored 
him, mocked him, laughed behind his back 
at him—and he had given no sign of know¬ 
ing or of caring. And it was the man’s own 
attitude, his calm indifference to what others 
said and thought, really, that had won him 
this recognition; it was a tribute to him, per¬ 
sonally, rather than to his work—since that, 
after all, was, as yet untried. How many 
of those who flocked to the Schuyler house 
that night to do him honor had any real be¬ 
lief in Fulton? Few indeed, if the truth 
were known! 

Pat was one of them. Of steamboats she 
knew nothing ; of men, more than most of 
those who knew her suspected. She liked 
Mr. Fulton; she felt that he was one of the 


LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 131 


men who made no promises he could not 
keep. She trusted Vanderbilt, too; his 
judgment and his knowledge of men. And 
Larry—Larry believed in Fulton, and she 
thought, with rather a wry smile, of the dif¬ 
ference between his quiet confidence in the 
Clermont and the nervous and excited way 
in which he backed a horse or a gamecock 
or his luck at card or with the dice. 

Two natures, she well knew, were strug¬ 
gling within Larry; on the issue of that 
struggle his whole future depended. She 
had heard old Astor lecturing him; trying 
to persuade him to take a position arid be¬ 
come a business man, solid, conservative and 
<—dull. And she knew, as Astor did not, it 
seemed, that Larry would never, could never, 
take that path. He must find adventure, 
something stirring, appealing to his love of 
excitement and romance, in any enterprise 
in which he might hope for real success. 

There the born gambler in him spoke and 
had his way. But young as she was, Pat 


132 LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 


had seen the ruin of more homes than one in 
Ireland because of that inborn love of gam¬ 
bling. And she knew that what Larry 
needed was some occupation, some interest, 
that would appease the restlessness that 
drove him to gaming, while it demanded, at 
the same time, hard work and application. 
Risks he must take—but, she was sure, they 
should be the risks of the pioneer, the adven¬ 
turer along new ways, untrodden yet by any 
man, and not the hazards of pure chance, 
i Participation in the enterprise of the Cler¬ 
mont might well make all the difference be¬ 
tween success and failure for Larry. And 
Pat was torn. More than once, that day, 
since she had seen Astor, she had been on the 
point of confessing everything to Larry and 
throwing herself upon his mercy. Only 
the memory of that terrible oath, sworn to 
her dying father, restrained her; it seemed 
to her that every time, when her mind was 
almost made up, his stricken face had ap¬ 
peared before her eyes, and his voice, forbid- 


LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 133 

ding her, had sounded like an echo in her 
ears. 

Gradually, though, the bustle of the arriv¬ 
ing guests next door distracted her. This 
was the first ball to which she had ever been 
bidden; hard that she must go in this dis¬ 
guise, and be robbed of the thrill that comes 
to a girl only once in her life! Yet she did 
what she could for her looks; took greater 
pains than she had ever done to make herself 
look well, in the fine clothes Larry had 
bought for her. 

She heard the hum of voices downstairs; 
if Brevoort and the others had come, it must 
be time for her to go down. And down she 
went, to stop, her face suddenly crimson, on 
the stairs, as she heard Brevoort, his voice 
lowered, but still distinct, telling a story the 
meaning of which, just at first, eluded her 
completely. The others laughed, and, re¬ 
luctantly, she went on. Was it so men 
talked among themselves—even Larry? 
She was not surprised to know that Bre- 


134 LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 


voort indulged himself so, but Larry—she 
had thought that he was different. 

Irving was the first to see her, and hailed 
her cheerfully. 

“The boy does you credit, Larry,” said 
Brevoort. “We must look to ourselves— 
he'll he cutting us all out before we know 
it.” 

“Pat’s no hand with the ladies yet,” said 
Larry, laughing. “Time enough for that, 
isn’t there, Pat? You and I’ll keep Bache¬ 
lors’ Hall here a while longer.” 

“As long as you please!” said Pat, with 
a fervor that made them all laugh. 

Reilley was busy at the punch bowl, and 
now, as he put down the decanter of spirits, 
Irving seized it and emptied it into the bowh 

“Oh, come, Reilley!” he said. “Let’s 
have it strong! We shall be most damnably 
bored at the Schuylers’ unless we are well 
fortified!” 

4 ‘ Then why do you go, if you expect to be 
bored?” asked Pat. 


LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 135 


“Touched!” said Brevoort, and roared. 
“Well—why do we, Wash?” 

“The boy’s an anarchist!” said Irving, 
laughing in his turn. “Pat—if you apply 
common sense to society and its ways you’ll 
make an end of them! We go because—be¬ 
cause—because we must—eh, Henry? Be¬ 
cause every one does—because of what would 
be said if we didn’t!” 

“No matter, ’’said Brevoort. “ I ’ll wager 

we won’t stay long. Larry insists upon a 
night with the cards. He wants to get some 
of his money back from me.” 

Pat’s anger, that always sprang to life 
when some such remark as this stimulated 
Larry’s eagerness to play, colored her 
cheeks. 

“Sure, Mr. Brevoort,” she said, “if it 
wasn’t for the likes of you Mr. Delavan 
wouldn’t always be losing all his money.” 

Brevoort and Halleck laughed, but Larry, 
rather sharply, bade Pat be still. 

“Oh, come, Larry, the boy means well!” 




136 LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 


said Brevoort. “Here, Pat—have a glass 
of punch— 

“No,” said Larry. “Time enough for 
him to begin that when he’s of age!” 

He looked at his watch then. 

“And high time for us to go, if we’re 
going,” he said. “Ho, Reilley—coats and 
hats—!” 

Short as the distance was, and clement 
though the weather, there could be no cross¬ 
ing the garden to-night. Their entrance 
must be made with due formality; they must 
be as fully dressed as though they had, like 
most of the guests, come from some distance. 
So Pat, for the first time in her life, donned 
a high hat—and wonderfully wALl she looked 
in it, too! 

The strains of music had for some time 
been coming to them through the open win¬ 
dows; the great pile of hats and topcoats 
in the ante room to which a servant showed 
them in the Schuyler house made it seem 


LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 137 


likely that they were among the last of the 
guests to arrive. 

Pat was vastly thrilled as she followed 
Larry into the great ball room. The scene 
was a brilliant one as the dancers moved in 
the stately measures of a waltz; the music 
was the best the city could afford; flowers 
were everywhere. 

All the beauty of New York was on that 
floor, and there were guests from far away. 
The great Patroon families from Albany 
were represented; there were guests from 
Baltimore and Philadelphia, Boston, and the 
Jerseys. From Governor’s Island had come 
officers in their blue dress uniforms; cer¬ 
tainly, there was no lack of color in the 
scene. 

But Pat’s eyes searched the room first of 
all for Fulton. A little earlier he had stood 
in line, to receive and meet the guests, with 
Betty and Mr. Schuyler; now he and Van¬ 
derbilt stood apart, watching the dancers. 


138 LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 


Vanderbilt was tense and nervous; Fulton 
calm and placid, liis features lighted by his 
pleasant, grave smile. 

“I believe this is your first ball, is it not? 75 
said Fulton, to Pat, when she went up to 
shake hands with him—remembering, just 
in time, not to drop a courtesy! “I hope it 
will be only the first of many.” 

Brevoort, Irving and Halleck greeted Ful¬ 
ton courteously but briefly; nodded to Van¬ 
derbilt; went on, then, to find partners for 
the dance. But Larry lingered. 

4 ‘ All goes well ? ” he said. ‘ ‘ The Clermont 
is ready?” 

“As ready as I can make her,” said Ful¬ 
ton. ‘ 6 1 have done my best. The issue now 
is beyond my power to control.” 

“You need hate no concern about the Cler¬ 
mont!” said Vanderbilt. “I couldn’t have 
built her, but I’m enough of a mechanic to 
know that she is as sound and right as hu¬ 
man hands and human brains can make her. 
She will be a success to-morrow!” 


LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 139 


“I am glad you are so confident,” said 
Larry. 

Vanderbilt’s eyes searched his. 

“I’m not worried about the Clermont” he 
said. “Only one thing gives me concern 
now—the money. You are sure of the ten 
thousand dollars?” 

“As sure as you are of the Clermont!” 
said Larry. 

Pat’s heart sank. She wondered if Van¬ 
derbilt saw that that answer could be con¬ 
strued in more ways than one ? 

“It would be calamitous to have any diffi¬ 
culty about the money now,” said Vander¬ 
bilt. “I needn’t tell you that if the trip to¬ 
morrow is a success Schuyler will stand upon 
his rights to the last penny!” 

“You needn’t concern yourself about the 
money—as I have told you before,” said 
Larry, with some heat. “That is my part 
of the undertaking—as it is yours and Pul¬ 
ton’s to see to the Clermont ” 

And he turned away, leaving Vanderbilt 


140 LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 


silenced, but still, if bis eyes told tbe truth, 
a prey to care and doubt. Only Pat saw, 
sick at heart, how the perspiration started, 
and stood in beads on Larry’s forehead. 



Cosmopolitan J hotoplay. Little Old A ew \ork, 

MARION DAVIES AND ARTHUR DILLON. 










CHAPTER XII 


“Larry —” Pat’s voice was low; lie 
turned, surprised by its intensity. 

“Well, Pat?” 

“Is it true about the money, for sure? 
You’ll have your bands on it in time?”' 

“What’s that to you, Pat?” said Larry, 
sternly. 

“Sure, and what’s it not to me? If it 
hadn’t been for me you’d have no worries 
about money now! Oh, Larry, sometimes I 
wish that ship that brought me had gone 
down in the storms that beat upon us as we 
came!” 

“Nonsense, boy, ! ” said Larry. But his 
voice was kinder. “I won’t have you think¬ 
ing such things. If I have worries they’re 
of my own making, and I ’ll find my own way 
out of them. Hello—” 

141 


142 LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 


A curious stirring of interest through the 
great room had prompted his explanation. 
He turned, and so did Pat—to see the en¬ 
trance of a queen. For, in her own eyes, 
Ariana de Puyster was a queen that night. 

She wore a gown in the last fashion of 
Paris, wholly new, still, to New York. And 
pride buoyed her up as she came in, with 
Betty Schuyler hovering adoringly beside 
her. She waved her fan languidly; Pat 
ground her teeth. 

“ Indeed and I do wish that ship had foun¬ 
dered!” she said, crossly. “That painted 
scarecrow would have gone down w T ith her 
if she had—and you'd be free of her, at least 
—and of me as well! Oh, it’s no use scoldhP 
me, Larry—” 

But he was not scolding her; perhaps, had 
not heard her at all. For at the sight of 
Ariana he had forgotten everything and 
every one save her. In his mind was no 
thought of the rebuff she had given him at 
their last meeting; no thought, indeed, of 



LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 143 


anything but that he saw her again. He 
crossed the great room with hurried steps; 
bowed low before her; took her hand, and 
this time, kissed it with neither embarrass¬ 
ment nor any hint from her. 

“ Isn’t she wonderful, Larry"?” said Betty, 
eagerly. “Did you ever see such a gown?” 

4 4 I vow you cover me with blushes, child! ’ ’ 
said Ariana, languidly. 4 4 Really, you know, 
this is quite—nice! I declare, I am sur¬ 
prised. And pleased—that there is one 
house in New York that makes it possible to 
think of London without a blush!” 

Pat, who had followed Larry slowly, 
heard, and turned away. She would not 
trust herself, in that moment, so much as to 
look at them. Larry*—making a fool of 
himself over this girl! Why, even Brevoort 
saw through her! As for Irving, he had 
gone off by himself to laugh. Pat ground 
her teeth. Let them laugh at Ariana as 
much as they pleased—but if they dared to 
mock Larry—! 



144 LITTLE OLD NEW YOEK 


“May I have this dance ?” Larry was beg¬ 
ging. 

4 ‘ Oh—a dance! ’ ’ Ariana was more languid 
than ever. “Lud! Have I energy enough 
to dance ? I vow I doubt it! But I will try, 
for you, Larry! ’Tis more than I would do 
for any other man in America!’ 8 

Pat stood still, glaring. But she was 
helpless; she had to watch Larry lead Ariana 
out on the floor. She did not notice at first 
that Betty Schuyler was standing beside 
her, watching with eyes full of enthusiasm 
and delight. The music stirred Pat, despite 
herself; she longed to be there, too, dancing 
—in Larry’s arms. 

“They make a splendid couple, don’t they, 
Pat?” said Betty. “Neither of them ought 
ever to dance with any one else.’’ 

“Where are the eyes in your head?” said 
Pat, crossly and rudely. “She, with her 
mincing airs and graces!’’ 

“Why, Pat!” said Betty, amazed. 
“You’re the only boy I ever knew who’d say 


LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 145 

a thing like that of Ariana! They’re all 
crazy about her! And in London—” 

“Oh, London—and who cares for Lon¬ 
don ? ’ 7 said Pat. ‘ ‘ Sure, there’s nothing but 
English there—she’d be well enough in such 
company!” 

“I forgot—you’re Irish,” said Betty. 
“You don’t like the English, do you?” 

“No—nor the French nor the Dutch!” 
said Pat. “Will you look at the way she’s 
hanging to him? Has she not the strength 
to dance upon her own two legs?” 

‘ ‘ Pat—Pat, for shame! ’ ’ said Betty. And 
then, perhaps to quiet him: “I w T ould like to 
dance myself.” 

From a hostess that was equivalent to a 
royal command. But much Pat cared—that 
night! 

“Sure, nobody’s stopping you,” she said, 
and turned away, never seeing how poor 
Betty stood staring after her, wide eyed and 
open mouthed. 

Nor would she have cared had she seen. 





146 LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 


Her thought was all for Larry. She was 
glad, for the first time, that she had played 
the part her father had thrust upon her. 
For she had a shrewd idea that the favors 
Ariana might gladly enough have bestowed 
upon the heir of her uncle would never be 
granted to a penniless Larry; Ariana, unless 
Pat misjudged her sadly, was one who would 
always have a keen eye for the main chance. 

It was a relief to have the music stop, 
even though it meant that she had to watch 
Larry leading Ariana from the floor, and 
bending close to her with the devotion of a 
true cavalier, the while that Ariana, affect¬ 
ing a weakness almost too great to he borne, 
leaned heavily upon him. 

She tried to watch them without letting 
it he seen that she was doing so, but in a 
moment, to her dismay, she saw Larry beck¬ 
oning to her. Reluctantly, ungraciously, 
she crossed the room to join them. 

“Come, Pat,” said Larry, “Mistress de 
Puyster is better to you than you deserve. 


LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 147 


She has forgiven your rudeness the first time 
you met—kiss her hand, and thank her for 
her kindness.” 

Pat bowed, clumsily, but made no move to 
take the hand Ariana waved before her, and 
the heiress laughed. 

“ You’ve not had time to teach him graces 
yet, Larry,” she said. “Come now, Pat— 
we must be friends. I dare to say that your 
guardian is the oldest and the most devoted 
of my lovers. I vow I must buy you some 
toys to-morrow.” 

“Save yourself the trouble,” said Pat. 
“I am too old to play with toys, Mistress de 
Puyster.” 

Ariana lifted her brows; Larry scowled. 
And Ariana turned to him. 

“I fear you have undertaken a hopeless 
task, Larry,” she said. “It’s hard for any 
one to make a silk purse of a sow’s ear, they 
say—but were I in your place I should send 
this boy to military school, where they at 
least teach the pupils manners.” 


148 LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 


That blow at last struck home; Ariana 
had drawn blood for the first time in an en¬ 
counter with Pat, who turned frantically to 
Larry and seized his arms. 

“Oh, Larry—no—no!”* she begged. 
“Whatever you do, don’t send me away to 
school! Pay no attention to that tittivating 
female!” 

But she had, at least, the grace to say that 
under her breath, so that Ariana did not 
hear, although it was easy to surmise that 
Pat had been disrespectful again. 

“Hold your tongue, Pat,” said Larry. 
“ I’ve no wish to send you to school unless you 
make me—but I shall unless you mend your 
ways. You have been rude again to Mis¬ 
tress de Puyster, and I won’t have that.” 

Meantime Ariana had moved away, and 
Pat turned pleadingly to Larry. 

4 ‘ I know I’ve been rude, ’ ’ she said. ‘ 4 Oh, 
Larry—forgive me! I promise myself I’ll 
be polite to her—and then she says some¬ 
thing that stirs me up! But I’ll be good— 



LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 149 


oh, I promise I’ll be good, if you’ll but for¬ 
give me and be kind to me.” 

“Don’t take on so, Pat,” said Larry. 
“No one wishes to be anything but kind to 
you—but you must keep a curb on that sharp 
tongue of yours. And, in any case, it doesn’t 
become a man to be rude to a woman. 
That’s a game only girls are allowed to play 
—and no one likes even a girl the better if 
she isn’t pleasant to other girls.” 

“I’ll remember—and I’ll try,” said Pat. 
Larry was trying to edge away. He had 
lost his monopoly of Ariana; she was, by 
now, the center of another group, and Bre- 
voort, with a twinkle in his eye, was urging 
her to sing. 

* ‘ 4 Oh, do, Ariana, ’ ’ begged Betty Schuyler. 
“We’re all simply dying to hear you sing one 
of the new London songs!” 

“Oh, la, Betty—I dare not!” said Ariana. 
“You’ve no idea how wicked they are there! 
All the songs I learned are very amorous 
ditties! 


150 LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 


‘ ‘ The more eager we to hear it, then! ’ ’ said 
Brevoort. 

She turned to Larry with a languishing 
look. 

“You’ll have to encourage me, Larry, be¬ 
fore I dare sing it, I fear!” she said. 

Larry, before them all, was a little em¬ 
barrassed ; a little slow to take his cue. But 
that was too much for Pat’s good resolu¬ 
tions. 

“Sure, you didn’t need encouragement the 
last time!” she said. 

Irving laughed out; even Betty Schuyler, 
with all her young girl’s adoration for Ari- 
ana, smiled. But Larry frowned, and 
Ariana was furious. 

“I shall never be able to sing with this 
impossible child about to distract me!” she 
said. 

Larry seized Pat’s arm, but she was not 
to be suppressed now. 

“You needn’t worry!” she said, viciously. 


LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 151 

“ You ’ll never be able to sing anyway, 
whether I’m about or not!’’ 

Ariana turned crimson with rage; for a 
moment it looked as if she meant to strike 
Pat. But before anything more could be 
said or done Larry dragged Pat away, and 
Pat, struggling, kicking, protesting, every¬ 
thing but her scorn and jealous hatred of 
Ariana forgotten, had to go. Larry was 
angry, but he had himself well in hand. 

“Look here, Pat,” he said, when they were 
in the garden, “this must stop. I won’t 
have you being so damned impudent to Mis¬ 
tress de Puyster.” 

“You won’t, is it? Then tell her not to 
be so damned impudent to me!” cried Pat. 

“That will do, Pat,” said Larry, quietly. 
“Go home now, and to bed. I’m sorry I 
let you come. You’re not to be trusted.’ 1 

Pat, stricken suddenly, looked up at him. 

“I—I’m sorry, Larry,’’ she said. 
“Really and truly— I wouldn’t have said 


152 LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 


anything if I’d thought—I wouldn’t go to 
bring shame on you— 

“Go home,’-’ said Larry. She couldn’t 
see that the corners of his mouth were 
twitching, ever so faintly; his tone was stern 
and unforgiving. 

“But—I’ll promise to be good—’* 

“Go home!”' 

Reluctantly Pat took a step; Larry stood, 
his arms folded, watching her. 

“Ah, now, Larry—don’t be after sending 
me home like a baby from the party—” j 
“If you don’t want to be treated like a 
baby you mustn’t act like one. Go home.’ J 
“I—I don’t want to go home—” 

Erom behind them came the sound of a 
few introductory chords on a piano. Larry 
turned; saw that Ariana was seated at the 
instrument. 

“Go home at once!” he said. “Stop 
arguing. At once—do you hear me?” 

And Pat knew, now, that she must obey. 
Larry turned away and went back into the 




LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 153 


house. And, disconsolate, a little ashamed 
of herself, but not enough so really to make 
her sorry for what she had done, Pat walked 
across the garden to the gate. Reilley was 
there; she saw at once that he had been lis¬ 
tening, from the way he smiled as he took 
his long pipe from his mouth. That was 
too much. 

“You mind your business, you good for 
nothing Irishman, you!” she said. 

Reilley laughed. 

“ ’Tis quiet you must be now, boy,* 2 he 
said. “You’d not be interferin’ with the 
music Mr. Larry admires so much, would 
you ?’ 2 

For now Ariana’s voice was lifted in song, 
and came to them. And Reilley, affecting 
to be much impressed, put his finger to his 
lips, and stood, in the attitude of one listen¬ 
ing intently. 

“You’re all fools!’ 2 cried Pat, and burst 
into a storm of weeping as she ran past him 
and into the house. 



CHAPTER XIII 

Reilley, left alone, shrugged his shoul¬ 
ders. The night was one of calm and peace¬ 
ful beauty. The moon made the garden as 
bright as day; it was so warm that in the 
Schuyler house all the windows were open. 
Every sound came out; Reilley, standing by 
the gate, filling his pipe, packing the to¬ 
bacco down with meticulous care, could look 
into the ball room and see, without any diffi¬ 
culty at all, the corner, near the window, 
where the musicians had been placed. 

Ariana was at the piano; the group that 
had gathered about her when she took her 
place had opened a way for Larry, and he 
stood close beside her now, looking down at 
her with his admiration plain in every look, 
every movement. 


154 



LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 155 

“The boy must be whipped—but he has 
the right of it! ” said old Reilley, to himself. 
“I think shame to see Mr. Larry throwing 
himself away on yon painted piece of foolish¬ 
ness!” 

Ariana was singing, and the old Irishman! 
listened, with amusement in his eyes and an 
ironic smile curving his mouth. Her voice 
was thin; she sang with an affectation that 
spoiled any effect the trumpery music might 
have had; she struck more w T rong notes than 
right ones as her fingers stumbled through 
the accompaniment. 

But in this new city of a new land she 
represented the authority of old ways, settled 
ways. She and her song were fresh from 
London, and anything that came from Lon¬ 
don must be right—so New York, far more 
provincial than it dared to admit, believed 
still, in those days. Changed was the spirit 
that accounted for the empty pedestal that 
Reilley, by turning his head, could see in the 
center of Bowling Green; the pedestal on 


156 LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 


which, not so long ago there had stood a 
statue of His Most Christian Majesty, 
George the Third, of Hanover and England. 
Patriots had tied a rope about that statue 
^once, and dragged it down, and bullets made 
from it had sent hired Hessians about their 
business. And now Reilley, with all his 
memories of Washington and Greene, Lee 
and Schuyler, the great Philip of that name, 
had to listen to a mincing miss casting the 
spell of London upon the New York that had 
seen that great moment! 

Reilley, with the philosophy of his years, 
watched the comedy that was being played at 
the piano. Ariana sang to Larry; all her 
airs and graces were for him. He looked 
embarrassed to be so singled out before that 
company—and yet— Ah, well! Reilley 
sighed. He could tell Larry, if he would— 
But to what use ? What lover ever listened 
yet to those who cast disparagement upon 
the lady of his sighs? What would be, 
must; Reilley could only hope that Larry’s 



LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 157 

poverty would, in the end, lead Ariana to 
seek elsewhere. 

True, she had enough, and more than 
enough, or would have, when her inheritance 
was hers, to make up for Larry’s lack of 
means. But Reilley had lived long, seen 
much, and made his observations, and he had 
never found that wealth looked kindly at 
dalliance with poverty. Old Jan de Puy- 
ster would have his say before it came to 
wedding bells at old Trinity, up where Wall 
street ran to the river. Time enough to 
worry when he must. But of one thing 
Reilley was sure: Mistress de Puyster, be¬ 
come she Mistress Delavan if she would, 
should never be his mistress! 

A sound behind him made him turn. 
And, to his amazement, he saw Pat, her harp 
in her hand, coming toward him, stealing 
softly among the flowers. She came slowly, 
hesitatingly; she looked at Reilley, as if she 
were in doubt as to whether or not he would 
try to make her go back. 


158 LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 


But Reilley only smiled as lie saw her. 
She found a seat, sat down; began, very 
softly, to tune her harp. Reilley stood 
watching, and listening to the sweet music 
of the harp. It stirred his earliest mem¬ 
ories. Ah, here was music—true music! 
Not such cheap stuff as came still from the 
great house beyond the Schuyler garden. 
But he sighed, too. 

‘ ‘ ’Tis a thankless task you’ve set yourself, 
Pat,” he said. 

i4 What do you mean?” 

“Why, to try to sing yourself back into 
Mr. Larry’s good graces! Listen to an old 
man’s advice, boy! Never try to come be¬ 
tween a young man and the woman he’s cast 
his eyes upon. You’ll prove the truth of 
that for yourself in time, no doubt—it would 
be like you to go failin’ in love with some 
baggage worse than that!” 

“Never!” cried Pat. “I—” 

And then she stopped. How hard it was, 
in this moonlit garden, to remember that she 


\ 


LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 159 

- ~ jU 


wore pantaloons, and not her native skirts; 
that every hour she lived was a new and liv¬ 
ing lie! , 

44 Have it your own way!” said Reilley. 
44 As for me, I’m going in. It’s warm 
enough, hut for my old hones there’s peril 
in the air of night, be it ever so soft and 
balmy! ’ ’ 

Left alone in the perfumed night Pat 
touched the strings of her harp again. 
Ariana had finished her song; the applause 
that broke out kept her at the piano, and 
Pat could see her looking up at Larry, as 
if she were asking him what she should sing 
next! And Pat, seizing upon the moment 
of silence, lifted her own voice. Sweet and 
clear and fresh it was; the fragrance of the 
night was in it; the mystery of her race, with 
its long history of sorrow. Magic was in 
her song that night; all the passion of her 
being was woven into its strain, enriching it, 
ennobling it, lending it a beauty greater 
than any of which its maker had dreamed. 


160 LITTLE OLD NEW YOKE 


Straight from her heart, with all its load 
of sorrow and of fear, Pat sang. She was 
like some prisoned bird, crying out in its 
cage for freedom and the right to live. The 
harp sang with her, under the light touch 
of her fingers; the wind rustled among the 
flowers; far away the bell of old Trinity rang 
out the hour. 

And then, Ariana, not hearing, or hear¬ 
ing, not heeding, drove her fingers down 
upon the piano’s keys once more, and her 
voice rose in another mincing, tawdry song. 
How dared she profane that golden sound 
that came stealing through the windows 
from without ? So Irving thought, who had 
heard, and held his breath to listen. Won¬ 
der filled him; he had not known that in 
New York a voice so lovely was to be heard. 

Brevoort was listening, too, but the magic 
strains that moved Irving so deeply escaped 
him. Music bored him at best; as Ariana 
rendered it it seemed to him a sinful, utter, 


LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 161 


waste of time. He turned to Irving; whis¬ 
pered in his ear. 

“Tell me, sage! ,J1 he said, “why will men 
waste their time this way when there are 
cards to be played and good wine to be 
drunk ?” 

“Shh!’ ? said Irving, laughing under his 
breath. ‘ ‘ They 11 put you out! She is Lady 
Oracle, and when she sings let no dog bark!” 

Now to Larry, too, intent as he was upon 
Ariana and her song, the sound of Pat’s 
voice came stealing in. Despite himself he 
raised his head; his startled eyes met Irv¬ 
ing’s, who nodded, his finger to his lips. 

Ariana sang on; louder and louder rose 
her voice. And Pat, in the garden, listening, 
even as she sang, grew angry again, and 
some of the sweetness went out of her voice 
as she raised it to meet the challenge of the 
other song. 

Then, suddenly, as her eyes went back to 
the window, she caught her breath. Larry 


162 LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 


was no longer in Lis place! Had he heard ? 
Was he coming? Would he be angry again 
•—heap reproaches upon her—drive her 
away ? She did not care! If he could not 
know the difference between her song and 
Ariana’s he deserved no better fate than 
Ariana would bring to him! 

In the house Ariana’s song came to its 
end at last. Once more the applause broke 
out, and the appeals for more. Then, as 
she sat bowing and affecting to blush, and 
the applause died down, Pat’s voice, nearing 
the triumphant ending of her song, came to 
them all, louder and louder, clearer and 
more clear. Ariana started in anger; the 
others looked about—crowded then, to the 
window, to hear the better. 

“I vow I have a rival!”' Ariana said. 
And she looked about for Larry. He was 
gone. He had not waited to applaud her— 
he, for whom alone she had sung! Heal 
color stained her cheeks then; stood in two 
bright spots on her high cheek bones. In- 




LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 163 


Solent! But how he should he punished 
when he returned! 

And Pat, outside, her eyes on the door 
now, saw Larry come into its frame of light. 
The momentary harshness that had come 
into her voice when it had disputed with 
Ariana’s left it again; she sang, once more, 
with softness and with beauty as she watched 
him. She could read his very thoughts. 
He had come to bid her cease; to order her ? 
once more, to go home and to bed. 

But, all at once, he was hating his task. 
Sheer instinct told her that; that and the 
way he stood, hesitating, listening! Ah, the 
game was in her hands now! He was lis¬ 
tening—she had asked no more than that 
he should do that. All her heart was in her 
voice now as she sang; she sang for all that 
was dear to her, all that she had come to 
treasure most in all the world. Never, 
never, could he know the truth—but she must 
save him from the fate that lay in wait for 
him inside that ball room! 


164 LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 


Not for worlds, now, would she have had 
him know she saw him, watched him. In¬ 
deed, she had no need to watch him now. 
Her eyes were cast down, but she was con¬ 
scious of every step he took that brought him 
nearer to her. Slowly, slowly, he came 
across the garden to her, walking among the 
flowers, that waved in the light breeze that 
cooled the night. Until he stood at last, 
close by the fence; leaned over it; stood so, 
a moment, looking down at her. 

Not until her song was ended did he speak, 
and then his voice was low, and kind, and 
gentle. 

“Your voice comes straight to you from 
God!’’ he said. “Pat—I’m sorry I was 
hard with you a while ago, lad.” 

“Oh, and is it you?” she said, in great 
surprise. “The night was so fine—I was so 
hot—I couldn’t sleep! And so I just came 
out with my harp to sing awhile before I 
went to bed.*’ J 



LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 165 

“I heard you,” he said. “In there—for 
all the din—I heard you! ” 

Pat’s heart leaped in its triumph. Din, 
he called it—Mistress de Puyster’s famous 
singing! Din! Oh, if she could but have 
heard that Pat’s cup of joy would have 
spilled over! 

Larry leaned over the fence. 

4 ‘ Sing that song again, Pat , n he said. 1 ‘ I 
—I never heard anything so lovely! What 
a shame it is to think your voice must break 
—and soon, I suppose, for surely you are 
older than most boys are when their voices 
have already changed! ’ ’ 

Pat smiled to herself as she bent to hex; 
harp again. And, joyously, triumphantly, 
she sang her song again, giving her voice 
full vent. Little she cared now who should 
hear her! A thankless task, Reilley had 
called it! Well, there were things, after all, 
that Reilley didn’t know! 

And then, as she looked past Larry toward 



166 LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 


the other house, she saw what was needed to 
make her triumph complete. Even could 
she have heard she would have known no 
more! 

For Ariana, angry, surprised, discom¬ 
fited by Larry’s absence, was looking all 
about for him. She came back to the win¬ 
dow ; asked, sharply, of a group made up of 
Brevoort, and Irving, and Halleck, where 
Larry was. 

“Why, we’ve not seen him since your 
song—” said Brevoort. “But if you’ve 
any message for him, Ariana, let us bear it. 
[We are to play with him, later.” 

Well for Pat, in her brief moment of hap¬ 
piness, that she did not hear that! For the 
ominous words would have dashed the cup 
of joy from her lips as she was about to 
drink. 

She sang on, though, in happy ignorance. 
And Larry, drawn by some power strange to 
him, that was beyond all his strength to re¬ 
sist, opened the gate, and came to stand 


LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 167 


close beside her. And, when she was done, 
his hand fell on her head, and he turned it 
so that her eyes looked up into his. 

“Pat—” he said. And then: “Gad—» 
you do strange things to me, boy! Were 
you a girl I’d say—” 

Suddenly, amazingly, Pat broke down. 
A storm of weeping shook her. Larry, con¬ 
cerned, surprised, deeply disturbed, stared 
down at her. He did not like the way this 
boy was always breaking into tears; it was 
unmanly. He frowned. 

“Come, Pat!” he said, as sternly as he 
could, “what ails you, lad?” 

“It—it’s nothing—” gasped poor Pat. 
“That song—it always makes me—cry—to 
sing it—” 

Larry shrugged his shoulders. He did 
not understand this boy. But he knew now 
what he had tried to hide from himself for 
some time past; that the lad had crept, 
somehow, into his heart. 




CHAPTER XIV 


Bright and beautiful was the morning of 
the day that was to see the Clermont, under 
her own steam, without the aid of wind or 
tide, move on the broad bosom of the river 
Hudson bad found two centuries before. 
The sun rode in a cloudless sky of deepest 
blue; the bills of Staten Island showed clear 
and fresh in the early light, veiled by not 
even a hint of mist. Across the river 
stretched the Jersey marshes; beyond loomed 
those grim guardians of the stream, the Pal¬ 
isades, old as time itself, relic of a force even 
mightier than that which Robert Pulton 
that day was at last to loose for the uses of 
the world. 

The same sun that woke Fulton and called 

him to glory and to triumph came stealing 

168 



LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 169 


through the windows of Larry Delavan’s 
house. It lighted a table littered with the 
debris of the night. Cigar stumps lay 
about; there were little pools of moisture 
where wine had been spilled. It lighted 
worn and haggard faces; it lighted the 
frayed cards of the play. And it lighted the 
sunken eyes of Larry Delavan, his haggard 
face, his lips that, for all his courage, trem¬ 
bled as he spoke. 

In the center of the board lay money, 
piled high. Halleck and Irving sat back; 
this final struggle had lain between Larry 
and Brevoort. And Brevoort, with a light 
laugh, laid down his hand and reached out 
for the money. 

“Gad—fortune’s abandoned you, the 
jade!” he said. “Larry, X give you my 
word—I hoped I’d lose!” 

“I think you’ve proved yourself the bet¬ 
ter man!” said Larry, summoning the smile 
that never failed him, no matter how black 
the face that luck turned toward him. 


170 LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 

“Once more? Your luck must change V z 
said Brevoort. 

But Larry shook his head at last. 

“Not I,” j he said. “I’m through. 
Nou’ve cleaned me out, Henry! As it is 
now—I still can pay you what I owe. Let 
me lose the once more and I could not. And 
debts of honor must be paid.’- ? 

Brevoort looked concerned. But what 
Larry had said was true. A gambling debt 
must he paid—and within twenty-four 
hours. Any other—might wait. But not a 
loss incurred in play. And there was jus¬ 
tice in that, for a man has not the right to 
play, knowing, that if he wins, he will take 
another’s money, and that if he loses—he 
loses what he cannot pay. 

For Larry the night that had just passed 
had spelled disaster—ruin. It had been his 
last cast. Had he won, and won enough, he 
might have averted ruin. Now, as matters 
stood, all he had in the world was gone. He 
had staked all upon the play—and lost. 


LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 17l! 


The house, home of his earliest, dearest mem¬ 
ories. And worse—he could not, now, meet 
his obligation at the bank; Fulton and Van¬ 
derbilt, who had trusted him, were involved 
in his own ruin. 

To Brevoort and the others that would 
mean little enough. Brevoort lived lightly; 
took life as it came. Rich, he was always in 
debt. He had won heavily from Larry, 
but not heavily enough to do more than re¬ 
lieve him for the moment. Yet behind him 
was a fortune solid and unassailable; not his 
to draw upon as yet, but still a shelter 
against adversity. None would press Henry 
Brevoort, knowing that, in time, he would 
be rich as few men ever are. 

But Larry, for all his gambling and his 
dissipation, had a broader, a more serious 
view of life. Within him, always, two na¬ 
tures had been in conflict; he had seen the 
splendor of Fulton’s vision when to scoff at 
the young inventor had been the fashion. 
He had dreamed, always, of becoming a fig- 



172 LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 


ure in the life of the city; it was a notable 
thing that he alone, of all the young men 
of his set, ever received a friendly word from 
Astor. The old fur merchant liked him; 
expressed, often, high hopes of him; had 
frankly deplored the stroke of fortune that 
had ended Larry’s great prospects. 

And now—well, it was over. He would 
have to pay such of his debts as he could; 
go to work, then, and devote the years of 
his youth to earning money enough to pay 
the rest. One thing, at least, stood to his 
credit; it never occurred to him as possible, 
even, that he should do anything but that. 

Outside in the garden was Pat. All her 
happiness of the night before was gone. 
She had hoped that she had done more than 
win Larry from Ariana for the moment; 
had prayed that that night, at least, he would 
resist the temptation to play. And—he had 
not. She had heard them, through the 
night, as she lay, almost'sleepless, waking, 






















LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 173 


ever and again, to hear them still hard at it. 

Early that morning, long before the sun 
stole through the shaded windows of the 
great living room, Pat had stolen downstairs. 
She had not dared to enter the room and in¬ 
terfere; disconsolate, a prey to fears and 
anxieties that maddened her, she had gone 
out into the garden. 

And now she saw two curious figures ap¬ 
proaching the gate. One wore the red shirt 
and the rudimentary uniform of a fireman; 
this was a big, loutish fellow, with a stupid, 
good humored face—Bully Boy Brewster, 
champion of the firehouse, and a famous 
rough and tumble fighter. The other was 
his sister, Rachel, a vixenish young woman, 
homely, masculine in aspect, shrewd of wit, 
sharp and bitter of tongue. Pat hated 
Rachel; had only contempt for her brother, 
who was the idol, nevertheless, of all the 
small boys about the Bowling Green. 

Pat guessed their errand as soon as she 



174 LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 


saw them stop at the gate and fumble with 
its catch. And she went quickly to inter¬ 
cept them. 

“What do you want here?” she asked. 

“None of your business, young fellow, my 
lad!” said Brewster. 

Rachel nodded her head. But Pat stood 
her ground. 

“Out of the way, young bantam!” said 
Rachel. “We’ve business with Mr. Dela- 
van!” 

“He’ll do no business with you,” said Pat. 
“Be off with you, and leave him be. He’s 
in trouble enough now without the likes of 
you dangling after him.”' 

Brewster only laughed, and the pair 
started to push their way past Pat. But 
she, in a fury, flung herself at Brewster and 
kicked him in the shins. He only laughed 
the more, and, seizing her by the shoulders, 
held her off, the while she screamed and 
struggled like a cat that has been caught by 
the scruff of the neck. 


LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 175 

“Here, here! What’s the meaning of all 
this?” 

Larry’s voice, edged by the irritation that 
came from the weariness of the all-night 
session, and by his naturally highly nervous 
state of mind, broke in sharply upon the 
din. Brewster released Pat at once and 
took off his hat, while Rachel bowed and 
simpered. 

“What does this mean?” asked Larry, 
sternly. “I can’t have this sort of disturb¬ 
ance here!’ ’ 

“We were just wanting to see you, sir,” j 
said Rachel. i ‘ To remind you again of your 
promise. The Hoboken Terror is looking 
for a fight, and with the crowd that’s here 
because of the steamboat he and my brother, 
if they fought, would draw such a crowd as 
the old firehouse never saw before or will 
again!” 

Larry shook his head impatiently. 

“Well, it’s no affair of mine!” he said. 

1 i Do as you please! ’ ’ 


176 LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 


“But, Mr. Delay an—you promised to 
back Mm!” 

“And I toM you I couldn’t keep my prom¬ 
ise—and wliy. It was no fault of mine. Be 
off with you, now. : ” j 

“Ah, now, Mr. Delavan—there’s no risk in 
it; just to put up the money for the purse 
—the Terror has his backer ready! You’ll 
win—” 

“I tell you no! Let that be enough!” 

“I told you so!” said Pat, triumphantly. 
Rachel turned a look full of hatred upon 
her; spoke, under her breath, to her brother. 

Brevoort laughed. 

“Let me give you a bit of advice, Brew¬ 
ster!” he said. “Don’t try to get a backer 
for that fight! You’d have no more chance 
with the Terror than I would!” 

“A lot you know about it!” cried Rachel, 
shrilly. “I’ve trained him! I know what 
he can do! Why, he’s as good as winner 
now! You—you’ve all turned Mr. Delavan 
against us! Taking the bread and but- 




LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 177 


ter out of honest folks’ mouth, you— 

Her brother checked her. He knew his 
gentle sister well, and the language she was 
capable of using under such provocation. 
And he knew it wouldn’t do; that these gen¬ 
tlemen had a curious way of standing to¬ 
gether. 

ii Shh, Ray!” he said, “Mr. Delavan’s busy 
now and won’t bother with us. If we see 
him later—” 

Larry, turning just as he heard that, saw 
Vanderbilt hurrying toward his gate. And 
he welcomed the chance to escape. 

0 

“Yes, yes—your brother’s right, Rachel,’’ 
he said. “I’ve too much to do to talk to you 
now. Come back later—'” 

“When, Mr. Delavan? We’ll come back 
whenever you say?” 

6 t Oh, come this afternoon! I ’ll have more 
time then. But it ’ll do you no good—I can’t 
back any prize fights now!” 

“Are you ready, Delavan?” said Vander- 
built. “The Clermont is being towed 



178 LITTLE OLD NEW YOKE 


around into the North River now, and Mr. 
Fulton expects to get up steam and try to 
start her in less than an hour!” 

“Come, Larry—we must hurry,” said 
Brevoort. ‘ ‘ Suppose Fulton should be right 
and the Clermont actually does move!” j 

A coach drew up beside the gate; with it 
came three saddle horses, led by a small col¬ 
ored boy, who rode one of them. Already 
the great Schuyler coach was waiting next 
door; just as Larry and his friends went 
back into the house the Schuyler party, with 
Ariana conspicuous among them, came out. 

“I declare—I expect we shall all be blown 
up!” said Ariana. “Where is Larry? I 
shall die of fright unless he goes aboard 
when I do!”' 

“He will, Ariana, dearest,” said Betty, 
laughing. “If we’re to be blown up we’ll 
all be blown up together. But we must 
hurry—our horses are so fat they can’t go 
fast!” 

Within Larry and his friends had fresh- 





LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 170 


ened themselves with cold water and re¬ 
moved all traces of their night’s debauch. 
Reilley had steaming coffee ready for them, 
and, when they were served, Pat drew the 
old Irishman aside. 

“Reilley—I’m not going with them,’- she 
said. 

“Not going to see the steamboat tried?” 
said Reilley. “Sure, and you’ll never be 
missing that sight!” 

“Not I,” said Pat. “But I’ve something 
to do first. If they miss me, do you tell 
them I’ll meet them at the landing stage.” 

Reilley, puzzled, saw no reason why he 
should not do so; nodded his head, finally, in 
agreement, and, smiling, watched Pat tiptoe 
out of the house, casting cautious glances 
behind her. 

As she saw the waiting coach Pat’s heart 
leaped. She had a plan; she had been won¬ 
dering how she was to find the time to carry 
it out. But now, without a moment’s hesi¬ 
tation, she opened the coach door. 



180 LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 


“Take me first to Mr. Astor’s store!” she 
ordered, as if slie had been used to giving 
suck commands all her life. The coachman 
cracked his whip; the footman sprang to his 
seat, and they were off. 

Great was the stir and bustle of that 
morning. All the notables were out, driving 
northward to the Clermont’s landing stage; 
fine figures on horseback rode beside the 
coaches, bending in their saddles to catch a 
glimpse of the pretty faces wfithin; on the 
sidewalks the rabble watched and cheered—■ 
or jeered!—as the great folk went past. 

Astor looked up, smiling, when Pat came 
in. 

“You are punctual, boy,’’ he said. ‘‘That 
is good. I am glad to see you are too level 
headed to be carried away like the rest of the 
fools who are going to see Mr. Fulton show 
that boats cannot be moved by steam! ’> 

“Yes, sir,” said Pat, meekly. 

“Now—I will show you how business is 
done,” said Astor. “See—here is the draft 





LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 181 


for ten thousand dollars that I shall use to 
buy the land for you. We will pay that—■ 
but we shall have the land, and in a few; 
years it will be worth much more than ten 
thousand dollars to you.” 

He turned, then, to take his coat and hat. 
But Pat checked him. 

“Will you be lettin’ me speak just a mo¬ 
ment, sir?” she asked. 

Astor stared at her, surprised. 

“You’re wantin’ to make a business man 
out of me, aren’t you, Mr. Astor?” she said. 

“Yes,” he said, nodding his head. “And 
I shall, please God! You make me hopeful 
when you, a boy, are willing to miss a show; 
like that to-day !” J 

“Then—why not give me the draft and let 
me pay it—do this business all by myself? 
It’s only by doing things that you learn how 
to do them. 

Astor showed his surprise again. But 
then the inherent good sense of what she 
said appealed to him, and he laughed. 


182 LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 

“You have right, mein junker!” he said. 

c 1 Of course! ’ ’ she said. ‘ ‘ How will I ever 
learn to handle me own money and stand on 
me own two feet alone if I don’t make a 
beginning some time?” 

Astor nodded. 

“That is good sense, boy!” he said. 

He put back his coat and hat, and sat 
idown, heavily. Pat could scarcely suppress 
the signs of her delight. 

“Listen now to me, boy,” said Astor. 
“What you have to do is simple enough, but 
you must do exactly as I say. You are to 
meet Mr. Rhinelander and Mr. Stuyvesant— 
you understand? You will give them this 
draft and take their receipt—and the deeds 
that they will give you that will show that 
the land is yours. You understand?^ 

“Sure and I can do that, easy!” said Pat. 
She reached for the draft, and Astor, almost 
reluctantly, surrendered it to her. She 
;was on her feet at once. One swift glance 
showed her that from his seat Astor could 


LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 183 

not see the street; he would not, therefore, 
see her enter the coach again and drive off—- 
which would excite his suspicions. 

The coach was waiting; Pat flashed across 
the sidewalk and into it like lightning. 

“ Drive to the landing stage—and hurry, 
hurry, hurry!” she cried. 

And not in many a day had Brevoort’s 
horses shown such speed as they proved 
themselves to possess now! 



CHAPTER XV 


Fulton, fearful lest some unforeseeable 
accident, or some mistake of bis own, should 
turn the famous trial trip into a fiasco, had 
resolved to start well up the stream, so that 
the crowds on shore, at least, should not be 
witnesses of a possible failure. It would be 
bad enough to have to face the ridicule of 
the guests who had been invited to make the 
trip; the thought of mocking thousands was 
more than he could bear. 

The vessel that carried so many hopes lay 
at anchor off a wooded cove, where the land 
sloped gently down to a beach, convenient 
for the embarkation of the guests in the 
small boats that, acting as tenders, would 
carry them out to the Clermont . Here, as 
the hour for the start drew near, a crowd 


LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 185 

was gathering. Carriages stood every¬ 
where ; horses were tied to every tree. Ser¬ 
vants moved here and there, shouting and 
calling to one another. And every minute 
saw the crowd of notables increase. 

All the fashion, most of the wealth—As- 
tor being the greatest exception—and all 
the civic dignitaries of New York were there. 
Politicians and statesmen; foreign diplo¬ 
mats; officers of army and navy—all had 
come, curious, skeptical, most of them, hope¬ 
ful, a few, to see what was to happen, yan- 
derbilt looked as if he were bowed with care 
and worry; Pulton himself, moving about 
the deck, a spyglass under his arm, seemed 
to be the calmest man on board his boat. 

Down below, in the engine room, they were 
getting up steam; smoke curled already from 
the high smokestack. The crew was busy 
with a thousand tasks, discovered or remem¬ 
bered at the last minute. 

The deck filled gradually, as, a few at a 
time, the guests were brought out in the 


186 LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 

small boats. And on shore there was a din 
of excited talk that set the birds, nnnsed to 
disturbance of their peace in this rude 
fashion, to wild circlings above the trees. 
For this was open country; far above Green¬ 
wich Village—Fulton, indeed, had chosen to 
go nearly to Chelsea to make his start. 

The Schuyler coach arrived in ample time; 
for all of Betty’s concern over the fatness 
of the horses they came lumbering up among 
the first. Ariana had to greet many old 
friends who had not seen her before since 
her return from London, but it was plain 
that the duty palled upon her and bored her 
to distraction. 

“ These men!^ she said, to Betty, when 
they had a moment to themselves. “My 
dear—I suppose they played all night at 
Larry Delavan’s! Suppose they come too 
late?” 

“Then they’ll miss all the sights—and 
serve them right,’-’’ said Betty, philosophi- 



LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 187 


cally. “Don’t worry about them, Ariana. 
Look—there’s young Phil Livingston from 
Albany! Oh, every one’s here!”- 

Every one wasn’t, for Ariana—not so long 
as Larry stayed away. Here was an ex¬ 
ample of the Christian virtues. Ariana 
might well have been offended; have chosen 
to remember how cavalierly he had aban¬ 
doned her side the night before, when she 
was singing for him, to him. But Ariana 
was not one to let a petty spite upset her 
plans. In her experience you must drive 
men upon a loose rein; give them their heads. 
Before you were married, that was, of 
course! Afterward—her lips tightened. 
If she married Larry, her look seemed to 
say, he might learn a thing or two. 

But she was all smiles when at last, when 
only a few passengers remained ashore to be 
carried to the Clermont, Larry came riding 
up, with Brevoort and Irving, and Halleck 
bringing up the rear. 


(L88 LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 

“You are late, you naughty man!” she 
said, tapping his arm playfully with her 
fan. 

“Not too late, though,” he said, kissing 
her hand. “A strange thing happened. 
Have you seen Pat ? Has he come and gone 
on board already?”' 

Ariana’s smile only just survived that 
question—and it took a great effort on her 
part to save it. 

“No,” she said. “You mean that terrible 
child of yours?” 7 

“Yes. I in worried about him,”' said 
Larry, ignoring the change in her manner. 
“He went off, most unaccountably, in Bre- 
voort’s coach, leaving us to ride or come here 
as best we could! Some prank—” 

“For which he should he well whipped!^ 
said Ariana. “You spoil him, Larry.” • 

“Oh, come—he’s not so bad,” said Larry. 
“A wild hoy, fresh from Ireland—you 
mustn’t expect too much of him!”' 

“All aboard!’’ came the warning cry. At 




LITTLE OLD NEW YOLK 189 

once Ariana recovered her smile. She 
turned to Larry. 

“I vow I should not have dared to had you 
not come, Larry!” she said. “I tremble at 
the rashness of this adventure! But you 
will be near, to protect me if anything 
should go wrong?” 

‘ ‘ Of course! ’ ’ said Larry, and gave her his 
arm. 

“Wait a minute! ’ ’ cried Irving. ‘ ‘ Here’s 
Henry’s coach—and making better time 
than it ever has when I rode in it!” 

Lickety split, down the hill that led to the 
river’s bank, came the coach, the horses in a 
lather, the whip cracking. Before it 
stopped Pat leaped out; laughed as she saw 
that she was in time. And abruptly Larry 
freed his arm. 

‘ 1 Pat—where have you been ? What does 
this mean?” he demanded. 

Pat laughed as she answered. 

“You may not know it,” she said, pertly, 
“but I’m a business man now, and I 


190 LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 


had a matter to discuss with Mr. Astor. ! ” 

Larry would have pressed his questions 
further, but the warning cry from the boat¬ 
men came again. 

“We’ve no time to lose now/’ he said. 
“Find a place in one of the boats.’ 2 

And he turned back again to Ariana, who, 
to Pat’s intense disgust, took his arm and, 
looking up at him fondly, walked with him 
to their boat. 

But, once they were on the Clermont, all 
petty, personal feelings seemed to sink into 
insignificance. In the stern stood a grave 
and dignified man, to whose arm there clung 
a young girl of great beauty. Larry bowed 
to them both, and then turned to Pat. 

“That is Chancellor Livingston, Pat,” 
said he. “He is one of America’s great 
men. His daughter is with him—and she 
has, I think, a greater interest than any in 
Mr. Fulton’s success.” 

Pat was interested at once. She liked and 
admired Fulton, and it pleased her to see 


LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 191 


how attractive a girl was this Miss Liv¬ 
ingston. 

Now all was ready. One boat had gone 
hack for Delmonico, who, full of excitement, 
had arrived, almost too late for the start, 
bearing in his little donkey cart the sand¬ 
wiches and other refreshments that had been 
ordered for the guests, and he and young 
Childs, his assistant, had brought them 
aboard. 

Fulton, who had been below, appeared at 
last. He looked anxious, but supremely 
confident; to Chancellor Livingston, who 
had gone almost beyond his means in financ¬ 
ing the enterprise of the man his daughter 
loved, he spoke cheerfully and hopefully. 

“All is well, so far as I can say,” he said. 
“I have examined the machinery—if it does 
as well as it has during our experiments, 
we need give ourselves no concern.” 

“You may think me foolish, Robert,” said 
Miss Livingston, “but I said a prayer for 
the Clermont last night.* ? 


192 LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 


He answered only with a squeeze of her 
arm, but his eyes should have reassured her. 
He looked at his watch; looked ashore then, 
and saw that no stragglers were seeking to 
get aboard. 

“Time for the start, Captain!” he said. 

“Aye, aye, sir!” The captain raised his 
trumpet and shouted an order. 

All over the deck talk ceased, and men 
and women, with strained looks, stared 
about. In the bow sailors worked swiftly 
at the anchor, pulling it up. The captain 
went to look down into the engine room. 

“All ready, there?” he called. 

“All ready!” 

Black smoke began now to pour from the 
stack; there was a hissing of steam. Then 
came a rumbling sound below, and suddenly 
a cry broke out all along the deck. The 
wheels began to turn; the Clermont moved! 

“Wehe going! She’s moving! Look at 
the shore—see—we’re passing that tree— 
we’re coming near that house!” 1 





LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 


193 


Fulton, deeply moved, stood still. He 
raised Ms hand once in a great gesture of 
thanksgiving; then was silent, although his 
lips were moving. 

Only for a moment was he left so. Then 
the crowd surged about him, cheering, try¬ 
ing to shake his hand, pouring congratula¬ 
tions and praise upon him. But suddenly 
a tremor shook the vessel; the next moment 
the wheels began to slow down, until at last 
they stopped. The engineer came running 
up, his face white. 

“Something’s gone wrong with the en¬ 
gine!” he cried. 

On all sides the cry was taken up. 

“The engine—something wrong with the 
engine—it won’t work, after all—might 
have known it—never meant to make a ship 
move this way—” 

Terror spread among the guests. Fulton 
cried out a word of reassurance and ran for 
the engine room. But all about women were 
fainting and screaming; Ariana de Puyster, 



194 LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 


of course, among them. Pat was as fright¬ 
ened as Ariana, but she did not faint. She 
made her way to Larry. 

“Oh, Larry!” she cried, “if we’re all go¬ 
ing to die I have a confession to make—” 

But Vanderbilt interrupted her. He 
seized Larry’s arm and drew him away. 

‘‘Come, Delavan!” he shouted. “We may 
he able to help Eulton—” 

They followed the inventor, and, looking 
down, saw him busy at the engine. He 
looked up once, and, seeing Vanderbilt, 
smiled. 

On the deck the panic was passing. The 
fear of an explosion, that had been re¬ 
sponsible for the worst of the fright, was 
no longer so pressing. And now the jeers, 
that for a moment had been silenced when 
the Clermont began to move, broke out 
again. 

“I’m afraid this is rather a good joke on 
Fulton—the presumptuous ass!’ J said Bre- 
voort. 



LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 195 


‘ 1 Old Astor says his ideas are ridiculous,’ * 
said Halleck with a laugh. 

“Do you know,” said Irving, “the thing 
that sticks in my mind is that this boat did 
move? It’s just as well to remember that. 
Something may have gone wrong for the 
moment, but if you ask me, Mr. Fulton has 
made his point!” 

“We’re stuck now, Wash!” said Halleck. 

“Yes—but let’s wait a bit before w^e make 
sure that Fulton’s beaten,” Irving re¬ 
joined. “That man has an awfully Scotch 
jaw. If I were the gambler Henry here is, 
I’d like to bet a few thousand on him 
now.” 

“You could get good odds, Wash,” said 
Brevoort. 

Meanwhile Larry and Vanderbilt, having 
found that they could do nothing to help 
Fulton, had returned to the deck; Vander¬ 
bilt to move about and try to restore order, 
Larry to see to Ariana. Pat tried to cling 
to him and speak to him, but he shook her 


196 LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 


off impatiently, and she had to be content 
with following him. 

Ariana lay still where she had fallen. 
Betty and Mr. Schuyler, with every mani¬ 
festation of concern, were trying to revive 
her, and Larry, when he saw her, cried out 
and dropped to one knee beside her. 

“Ariana!” he said. “Can’t you speak to 
me— V r 

But she lay still, her eyes closed. Larry 
was frightened. But Pat, bending low, 
stood up abruptly. 

“Sure, ’tis wasting your sympathy you 
are! ’ ’ she said. ‘ ‘ She’s no more unconscious 
than I am!” 

“Pat!” cried Larry, furiously. “You go 
too far—” 

He stopped. For Ariana had opened her 
eyes, and the angry look they held showed 
that she had heard what Pat had said. 
Betty smothered a laugh; Pat rather had 
the honors of the moment as they helped the 
indignant Ariana to rise. 



LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 197 

Now Larry, looking along the deck, saw 
Fulton, covered with grime and grease from 
the engine, coming aft. Vanderbilt hurried 
to join him, and Larry followed. 

“Well—said yanderbilt. 

“All right—some one had made a mis¬ 
take,” said Fulton. He looked tense. “Cor¬ 
nelius—it’s this time or never, though, 
now!” 

He gave an order. Once more the smoke 
belched out; once more the wheels began to 
move. And this time nothing occurred to 
impede her progress. She moved on, in 
stately fashion, the foam streaming behind 
the churning wheels. And from those who 
had so lately been ready to mock Fulton and 
rejoice in his disappointment, there burst a 
very storm of cheers. 

Fulton smiled happily as he received the 
renewed congratulations of his guests. He 
had no illusions; he knew very well how they 
had greeted the seeming disaster of a few 
minutes before. But his was a great nature, 



198 LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 

and, moreover, he could afford to be gen¬ 
erous. He had won ; his fame and fortune 
were secure. 

Vanderbilt was, except for Fulton, the 
happiest man on the ship. He had, if any¬ 
thing, a larger vision even than Fulton. He 
saw more, much more, than the conquest of 
the waters by this new engine. He looked 
at the river bank now, and spoke to Larry. 

“Delavan,” he said, “some day I shall 
build a railway from New York to Albany 
along this river. We think this vessel means 
the supremacy of water travel. It does not. 
I can foresee, even now, the time when this 
river will be used only to carry heavy freight 
that can be moved slowly.” 

“I’m ready to believe anything to-day!” 
said Larry. But he looked uneasily from 
Vanderbilt to Schuyler as he spoke, and 
Pat, still following him, marked his look. 

Schuyler came over to join Larry and 
Vanderbilt. He was amazed, and made no 
effort to hide his surprise. 


LITTLE OLD NEW; YORK 199 

“God bless my soul—lie’s done it!” lie 
said. “.Vanderbilt, I give you best! I think 
I have missed the greatest opportunity of 
my life. To think that I might have had an 
interest in this enterprise had I had but a 
little more faith—” 

“I was always certain of success,” said 
Vanderbilt, quietly. “A man like Robert 
Fulton is born to succeed.” 

“Look!” said Schuyler suddenly, pointing 
to the bow. 

Coming upstream was a small sailing ves¬ 
sel—one of the sloops that plied between the 
city and Haverstraw, whence came the 
bricks of which most of the houses in New 
York were built. 

So old and new met for the first time on 
that historic river. There was cheering on 
the Clermont; on the sloop there was noth¬ 
ing but consternation. The crew of three 
men could be plainly seen, gasping at the 
amazing sight of the speeding steamboat; a 
dog barked madly. And suddenly one of the 




200 LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 


men, losing liis nerve completely, leaped 
overboard and began to swim to shore. 

“Ah, well, 57 said Schuyler, laughing, 
“he’s no greater fool than I was!” 

“Don’t say that, Mr. Schuyler, 55 said 
Eulton, coming up just then. “After all, 
I shall always remember with gratitude that 
it was you who lent us the last ten thousand 
dollars, wuthout which w T e could never have 
finished the Clermont.” 

“I deserve no credit for that, 55 said 
Schuyler. “I lent it on Larry Delavan’s 
note—although it’s true, of course, that your 
patents and your vessel represented addi¬ 
tional security. 55 

“Well, I think you see that you took no 
great risk,” said Vanderbilt. 

“I do see that,” said Schuyler ruefully. 
“I tell you frankly that nothing would 
please me more than to have Larry fail to 
pay his note.” 

,Vanderbilt laughed. He turned to Larry 
and slapped him on the back. 



LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 201 


“I’m afraid we shall have to disappoint 
Mr. Schuyler on that score, eh, Delavan?” 
he said. 

‘ 6 I—” Larry hesitated. And just then, as 
if to cap the climax, Pulton came up, flushed 
with his triumph. But as he saw Larry’s 
confusion, the sudden lighting up of Schuy¬ 
ler’s face, and the growing concern in Van¬ 
derbilt’s, he grew pale. 

“I’m afraid—” said Larry. 4 ‘Mr. Schuy¬ 
ler—I fear I must ask you to renew my note 
for thirty days.” 

For a minute a dead silence reigned. 
Vanderbilt fell back, stupefied; Fulton’s 
eyes were on Schuyler. The banker’s whole 
demeanor changed. His geniality of a mo¬ 
ment before fell away; he looked coldly pro¬ 
fessional. 

“That will be impossible, I am afraid,” 
he said. “You must see my position, gentle¬ 
men ! I am sorry—but I owe something to 
my associates in the bank. And it would not 
be good business now to stretch a point in 


202 LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 


your favor. I made a loan upon doubtful 
security—if, now, the security turns out to 
be better than I hoped, the bank is entitled 
to any advantage the situation holds for it. ’’ 

“ You mean—you will refuse to do me this 
favor ?’ ’ said Larry. 6 6 Why— I have known 
you—been your neighbor—all my life! My 
father and you were friends—” 

“You make it hard for me to do my duty ,’ 5 
said Schuyler. “But business is business, 
the wide world over, Larry. I am sure these 
gentlemen understand. 

“I do!” said yanderbilt, bitterly. “I 
warned you, Delavan! My God—if you had 
only told me sooner I might have raised the 
money— I counted utterly upon you and 
your promise!” 

Larry turned away and went to the rail. 
He was too miserable to face them longer. 
And now Pat followed him. She seized his 
arm and shook it. 

“Larry!” she cried. “You’re not going 




LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 203 


to let that old latherskit banker rob Mr. 
Eulton? ?i 

Larry turned to her. 

“I can’t help myself, Pat,’ ? he said. “I 
guess this is the end of Larry Delavan. 22 

Sheer rage held Pat a moment in its grip. 
Then, as she saw Larry’s utter misery, she 
softened. 

“Sure, the Delavans may be helpless,” 
she said, “but keep your eyes on the 
O’Days!’ 2 

She left him swiftly then and went back 
to the little group of Schuyler, Vanderbilt 
and Fulton. They had been pleading with 
him for grace, promising to make good 
Larry’s note. And he was standing firm. 

“No,” Pat heard him say. “No, gentle¬ 
men, I’m sorry. But our agreement is plain. 
Delavan was to meet his note by five o’clock 
to-day. If he defaults, I must protect my¬ 
self and the bank by taking possession of 
your patents and your boat.’ J 



204 LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 


'And lie shrugged his shoulders. 

“But, Mr. Schuyler !’* said Pat, suddenly. 
“Supposin’ I were to guarantee Mr. Dela- 
van’s note?” 

Vanderbilt and Fulton drew back, amazed 
at this interruption. Schuyler stared. Then 
he laughed. 

“How could a little boy like you guar¬ 
antee any such sum as ten thousand dol¬ 
lars?” he asked. 

“Sure, and the estate that’ll be mine is 
worth much more than that V 1 

“But you do not control it—and will not, 
for years. No—” 

“Well, then, but wait, 7 * said Pat. “Sure, 
I know it’s only money itself can talk to the 
likes of you! Just be listenin’ to that a mo¬ 
ment!” 

And she thrust toward him the draft that 
she had had from Astor. 

“What’s this?”- said Schuyler, looking at 
it, dumbfounded. 

“It’s a draft of Mr. John Jacob Astor’s 




















LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 205 

for ten thousand dollars of my own money! 
And I’m thinkin’ it will be keepin’ the Cler¬ 
mont in the proper hands!” 

Schuyler could only stare and mumble. 
Vanderbilt and Fulton were as speechless 
in their relief and joy as they had been, five 
minutes earlier, in their consternation. But 
now Larry, who had followed Pat and over¬ 
heard the amazing conversation, took a 
hand. 

“Mr. Schuyler,” he said, in a voice that 
had all at once recovered its firmness and 
assurance, “I do not wish you to take this 
boy’s money—at least, as yet. If you will 
give me only five days of grace I can pay the 
note myself.” 

Schuyler hesitated. Pat’s intervention 
had beaten him; he could not get hold of the 
Clermont now. His mind worked swiftly. 
Fulton and Vanderbilt were going to be big 
men, in spite of him; better to try to snatch 
any remnants of their regard and respect 
that he had not already lost! 


206 LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 

i ‘ This alters the whole situation, gentle¬ 
men,” he said, with all his accustomed 
suavity. “I need hardly tell you how re¬ 
joiced I am that it is so—that you will not 
lose the reward your labors have so richly 
earned. I shall, of course, be only too glad 
to extend the accommodation of a five day 
delay to my dear friend, Larry Delavan. ’ ’ 

“Does all that blarney mean hell do it?” 
asked Pat. 

“It does, God bless you, Pat!”* said Van¬ 
derbilt, laughing. 

“Well, then—I’m not so certain I’d not 
like to be after ownin’ the Clermont meself, 
but I’ll withdraw in Mr. Delavan’s favor 
if must be!”' 

Larry’s arm went about Pat as he took 
the draft that Schuyler had handed to him 
and gave it back to her. 

“Keep your money, Pat,” he said. “God 
bless you, indeed—I don’t know how you 
managed it, but you’ve put me and all of 
us eternally in your debt! Keep the money, 


LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 207 


though—it will do Schuyler no good now!” 

Pat laughed. She looked extremely de¬ 
mure as she put the draft back into her 
pocket. 

“Is it do him any good?” she said. 
“Sure, and ’twould never have done him any 
good. ; ’Tis but a draft that Mr. Astor gave 
me to pay for some land he’s been after 
buyin’ for me!” 

It was Vanderbilt who realized first how 

this boy had fooled and bluffed one of the 

shrewdest and keenest men of business and 

% 

affairs in the whole country. His great 
laugh rang out. ; 

“Gad, Delavan—it’s he should be the 
guardian and you the ward,” he cried. 
“Given a few years and we’ll all have to 
watch out for him! Well done, Pat!” 

“We are deeply in your debt indeed, Mas¬ 
ter Pat,” said Fulton. He took his snuff 
box from his pocket; as always in times of 
stress or emotion he needed its solace. But 
before he took snuff himself he passed the 


208 LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 


box, with grave courtesy, to Pat. She looked 
at Larry, hoping he would forbid her to ac¬ 
cept, on the grounds of her youth. But he 
only smiled. 

“Go ahead, Pat!” he said. “You’ve 
played a man’s part to-day and you can 
take snuff or do anything else you please!” 

And so the moment of Pat’s triumph was 
spoiled for her! She could not well refuse 
now, and, gingerly, she took a tiny pinch of 
snuff and, awkwardly, sniffed. As she 
sneezed the men all laughed, and laughed 
again as the tears started in her eyes. 

But as she saw the look with which Larry 
was regarding her, all her anger passed. 
There was real liking, real respect, too, in 
his eyes at last. 

“You’ve saved me, little Pat,* ? he said. 

But all at once Pat’s eyes were anxious 
again. 

‘ 6 For now! ’ ’ she said. ‘ 6 But how are you 
to pay the money in five days?’- 3 


CHAPTER XVI 

Excited as New York liad been that morn¬ 
ing, the scenes about Bowling Green bad 
been as nothing to the commotion that 
greeted the returning guests as they drove 
and rode up to their homes. Half the popu¬ 
lation of little old New York must have seen 
the triumphant progress of the Clermont 
from the river bank; Fulton’s triumph was, 
that evening, the sole topic of conversation. 
But as Larry and his friends rode up, with 
Pat driving in state in Brevoort’s coach, 
two figures detached themselves from the 
group about Larry’s gate—perhaps the only 
people in the city who were more interested 
in something else than in the Clermont . 

Bully Boy Brewster and his sister Rachel 
cared nothing for the epoch-making achieve¬ 
ment that had marked the day. Brewster 

209 




210 LITTLE OLD NEW YOKE 


himself might have been interested, but 
Rachel was concerned with one thing only 
—the fight with the Hoboken Terror and 
her determination that Larry should keep 
his promise to back her brother. 

Larry, in his excitement, and the crowd¬ 
ing thoughts that had come to him on the 
way down concerning his rash agreement to 
pay Schuyler after five days, did not see 
Rachel at all at first; when he did she meant 
no more to him than any of the other curious 
loiterers, who were anxious to hear first¬ 
hand stories of the Clermont’s already fa¬ 
mous trip. Rut she had no mind to let him 
reach his house unmolested. She seized his 
arm as he was about to pass her. 

“Well, sir,” she said. “You told us to 
come back this afternoon, and here we are, 
waiting for you—and a fine long time you’ve 
been, I must say! Are you going to back 
my brother against the Terror?” 

Two things checked Larry’s impulse to 
dismiss her at once with a curt negative. 



LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 211 

One was the essential kindliness of his na¬ 
ture, which made it disastrously hard for 
him to say “ No ” and stick to it, at any time; 
the other was his amusement at the girl’s 
bold and impudent persistence in her design. 
He laughed now, and Rachel’s eyes gleamed. 
She knew her man and how to handle him! 

“Oh, Henry!” he called to Brevoort. 
“This is the fellow that wants to fight the 
Hoboken Terror! What do you think of 
himl” 

He took hold of Brewster’s arm, and the 
fighter, nothing loath, flexed his muscles. 

“Oh, I know Brewster,” said Brevoort, 
indifferently. He came close, looking at 
Brewster with an appraising eye. “None 
too well trained, I should say.” 

“Oh, but he’s fit!” cried Rachel vehe¬ 
mently. “I’ve been training him myself, 
and there’s been no fires of nights to keep 
him out, so he’s had his sleep.’’ 

Larry laughed as Brevoort allowed him¬ 
self to be drawn into an argument with 


212 LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 

• > 

Rachel. And just then Pat touched his 
arm. 

“ Don’t 'worry, Pat,” he whispered under 
his hand. “Pm just fooling with them. I 
won’t hack Brewster—he’s too light to fight 
the Terror, anyway.” 

“Who says that?’’ Brewster’s ears were 
keener than Larry had believed them to be. 
“Who says I’m too light to fight the Ter¬ 
ror? I’d give him ten pounds and a beat¬ 
ing any day in the week!” 

‘ ‘Big talk,’’ said Irving. 4 ‘I like a fighter 
who lets his fists speak for him.” 

“A man’s got to stand up for himself these 
days, sir,” 5 said Brewster, sullenly. “Ray 
—you tell them what I did to 6 Fighting Bill’ j 
Marsh.’ 1 Then he lowered his voice, in his 
turn, and grinned: “But don’t tell them 
what Bill did to me!” 

Brevoort all this time had been studying 
Brewster. Now he turned away with an air 
of finality. 

“Why, it’s absurd!’ 1 he said. “This 



LITTLE OLD NEW YORX 213 


man’s no more match for the Hoboken 
Terror than Wash or I would be! If they 
ever get into a ring together I’ll give five 
to one against Brewster! ’ ’ 

“Five to one!” There was a gasp of sur¬ 
prise. The odds were very great. And 
Brewster, after all, was a fighter of reputa¬ 
tion ; he had come off best in many a battle 
in the old firehouse. It was certain that 
he could more than hold his own with any 
man of anything like his weight in New 
York. “You’d bet a hundred, I suppose V >J 
said Larry, rather indignantly. 

“Anything you please—up to ten thou¬ 
sand against two!” said Brevoort, indiffer¬ 
ently. 

The old light gleamed again in Larry’s 
eyes. Ten thousand dollars—against two! 
The very sum he needed. He could scrape 
together the two thousand or collateral as 
good as the money. And ten thousand dol¬ 
lars—if he won! Of what use was the two 
thousand to him in his desperate condition? 




214 LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 


Why—here was a chance to recoup some, at 
least, of his losses; to meet his obligation to 
Fulton; to start anew, with something like 
a clean slate! 

Pat read his thoughts. She was desperate 
now. But she could do nothing. She had 
to stand by helpless, tears of despair and 
anger in her eyes, while Larry told the 
Brewsters he would back the Bully Boy if 
he would fight the Terror that night; while 
he closed the wager with Brevoort—who, to 
do him justice, made a protest. 

“Larry, Larry!” he said. “Don’t do it! 
I said I’d bet— and I must, if you hold me 
to it! But I swear I meant—I only said it 
to show you how hopeless I thought it was 
to think of backing Brewster! He has no 
chance against the Terror!” 1 

“Enough of that,” said Larry curtly. 
1 ‘ Brewster—I count on you to do your best. ’ ’ 

“He will, your worship — leave that to 
me!” cried Rachel. Triumph transfigured 
her; she tugged at her brother’s arm. 1 ‘ Come 





LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 215 


on, you!” slie called. “There’s much to do 
if the tight’s to be to-night, after all!’ 3 

Brevoort looked distressed and worried. 
Halleck was amused; Irving, as always, in¬ 
terested. The things that people did in¬ 
trigued Irving; filled him with wonder—and 
with a great determination to understand 
them and their motives. It seemed to him 
a small thing that Larry should have gam¬ 
bled himself into virtual bankruptcy; a tri¬ 
fling thing that he stood now to lose what 
scraps might otherwise have been saved 
from the ruin of his fortunes. But it was 
a great thing, in his sight, that Larry should 
meet disaster so; should be ready, after all 
the buffets fate had dealt him, to tilt with 
her again. 

Halleck, grown business-like in his asso¬ 
ciation with Astor, was the one who remem¬ 
bered that there were things to be done. 

“We’d better go over to the fire house and 
see to the arrangements for the fight,” he 
said. “I’ll bet no money, but for the honor 



216 LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 


of little old New York I want Brewster to 
liave all the chance he can!” 

“Right!” said Brevoort. His conscience 
had troubled him, hut he shook off that feel¬ 
ing swiftly now. After all, he had done 
what he could; if Larry Delavan chose to 
make a fool of himself no one had the right 
to stop him. And it w T as a sort of folly for 
which Brevoort, naturally enough, had a 
great deal of sympathy. 

So they went off, and Pat, ignored, aban¬ 
doned, was left behind. She was half cry¬ 
ing when she went into the house, and 
Reilley regarded her with a stern disap¬ 
proval. 

“He—he—he’s g-gone off to g-get ready 
for a silly pr-prize fight!” she said. “Oh, 
Reilley—he’s bettin’ the last penny he has 
to his name in all the world!** 

“Sure, and [ ’tis his money,” said Reilley. 
“Stop bein’ such a cry-baby, boy! Boys of 
your age should laugh at fightin’, not cry at 
the thought of it!” /- 





LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 217 


“It’s not the fight in’—hut he’s bettin’ on 
a wind bag, not a fighter that would have 
a chance to win for him!” 

Reilley laughed at her. 

“Sure, what do the likes of you know 
about figlitin’?” he asked. And he pointed 
slyly and mischievously toward the gate, 
where some of the same urchins who, once 
before, had brought humiliation and disaster 
to Pat, were lurking. As they saw her turn 
to look at them they recognized her and be¬ 
gan to jeer. In Pat’s cheeks the angry color 
rose. She turned to Reilley. 

“You want to know what I know about 
fightin’, do you?” she asked. 

And, without waiting for an answer, she 
dashed for the gate. Reilley, amazed, stood 
still, looking after. Pat fell upon the urchins 
like a hurricane. This was a far different 
fight from the first one. She took her tor¬ 
mentors completely by surprise; she 
scratched and bit and kicked; she fought 
according to no rules, and her one thought 




218 LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 

was to strike and hurt, no matter by what 
means. 

Half laughing, half in real fear, they 
broke and scattered, flying before her down 
the street. And she gave chase, stopping at 
every step to stoop and pick up mud to throw 
after them. The exhilaration of battle was 
in her; she could have fought any one or 
anything just then! 

Just in front of the Schuyler house Pat 
stooped to gather a last handful of mud. 
Most of her enemies were out of range now; 
one, jeering and taunting, had stopped well 
out of range, as he believed. And just then 
Mistress Ariana de Puyster, followed by her 
maid, came tripping down the walk. She 
threw up her hands in horror as she saw 
Pat. 

“Oh, I vow—this is too much!” 5 she said. 
“If Larry will not chastise that dreadful 
boy, the watch must do it!” 

Scarcely a second did Pat hesitate. Her 
true enemy, the creature she hated worst of 


LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 219 


any in the world, stood before her; her hot 
hand enclosed soft, trickling mud. She drew 
back her arm and sent her missile with a 
deadly aim. As it struck its target and 
scattered Pat shrieked in mad delight; 
waited long enough to see the look of hor¬ 
rified amazement that Ariana gave her, and 
then, laughing hysterically, ran home. 

Reilley had seen the whole episode from 
beginning to end. He tried to look stern, 
but that was more than he could do; he hated 
Ariana as much as Pat did, knowing her for 
one of those who think that the proper way 
to treat servants is with scorn and contempt. 
Indeed, he had had all he could do to keep 
from echoing Pat’s ribald laughter as he saw 
Ariana’s maid trying to help her mistress to 
remove the mud from face and neck. 

“Do I know anything about fighting?” 
asked Pat impudently, as she came up to 
him. 

“Faith, and you do that!”' said Reilley. 
“I should be scoldin’ you—but I’m thinkin* 




220 LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 


there’ll be enough of that to last you later 
on!’ • 

“Do you want to scold me?” asked Pat. 

“.That I do not!” said Reilley, giving up 
all efforts at propriety. 

“Then—would you do somethin’ for me?” 

“Maybe—if I could.” 

“Get me into the fire house to-night—” 

“Eh, boy—it can’t be done! ’Tis clear 
against the rules to let a boy be in there 
durin’ the fight.” 

“Ah, but sure, an 7 you could do it— 
r ’twould be easy for you, Reilley.” 

He shook his head. 

“But ’tis only a smart, clever man like 
yourself I’d ever be dreamin’ of askin’ to 
do me such a favor.” 

“Away with your blarney—don’t you be 
forgettin’ I’m as Irish as yourself!’ 1 

“No, but I mean it, Reilley. You are 
clever—much too clever to be a servant. I 
know why you are—’tis because you love 
Mr. Larry, and wouldn’t be leavin’ him 





LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 221 


alone to get on as best he could without you.” 

“You have much knowledge in that small 
head of yours, haven’t you? But you can¬ 
not be tellin’ me how I could be after smug¬ 
glin’ you into the fire house to-night—for 
there’s no way—” 

“Sure, then, and you can make one up! 
You’ll be doin’ that for Pat—you know you 
will!” 

Reilley was weakening—as who would not 
under such blandishments as Pat’s. 

“But even if I were to get you in, you’d 
never be allowed to stay—” 

“Leave that to me! If I’m once in I’ll 
find a way to stay, never fear!” 

“Well,” said Reilley, “I’ll be tryin’ to 
do what I can, then.” 


CHAPTER XYII 


Dusk had fallen, but the twilight gave 
way only to the even brighter light of a moon 
that was nearly full. Pat, clinging to Reil- 
ley’s hand, looked about her with eager in¬ 
terest, as they made their way toward the 
fire house. 

The news of the fight had come as a fit¬ 
ting climax to the great day. Already a 
great crowd surged about the locked doors 
of the fire house. Some gentlemen, early 
arrivals, were there, but the bulk of the 
crowd was made up of the rougher element. 
Many of these had come from the neighbor¬ 
hood, but even more had crossed the river 
from New Jersey in the wake of their idol, 
the formidable Hoboken Terror. 

Reilley shook his head. 

222 


LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 223 


4 ‘ ’Tis a rough crowd, ’ ’ he said. i ‘ There ’ll 
be more heads broken to-night than those 
of the two men in the ring. Please God it’ll 
not come to a riot!” 

“Why should that be'?” asked Pat. 

“Well, look you, Pat,” said Reilley. 
“Here’s the two fighters and their friends. 
They’ll fight—and their friends must bet 
upon them, if only to show their friendship, 
do jou see? And one must lose—and so 
must his friends. And when men of this 
sort lose their money they turn ugly, look 
you, and seek to get its worth some other 
way. And so they fight, in the hope that 
that will serve their turn somehow.” 

“Then they are stupid loons!” said Pat. 

“Maybe—maybe,” said Reilley, with a 
sigh. “But I mind me when I was your age 
I wasn’t thinkin’ so! Then a fight was a 
fight, and who so blithe as Reilley to he in 
the thick and midst of it !’^ 

“I’ve no patience with such doings,’’ said 
Pat crossly. “I fight as readily as any one 





224 LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 


when there is need, hut not when there is 
none. ’ ’ 

“Ah, well,” said Reilley, “times change 
and boys change with them! l ’Twas not so 
in my day—that’s all I know. Whist—care¬ 
ful, now—we’re near the door I know of, in 
the back. Let me go first, soft like, and be 
sure that Mr. Larry’s not here yet.” 

“Where would he be if he’s not here?” 

“Why, with his fighter, sure, givin’ him 
his instructions, and seein’ to it that he’s 
fit and ready to do battle.’ 1 

“Does Bully Boy Brewster need Larry’s 
instructions ? ’ ’ 

“Boy, do you know nothin’ that boys 
know ? Sure, ; ’tis the gentry always stands 
behind the fighters—prime them for the ring 
—advise them! What would ignorant gos¬ 
soons like this Brewster know of how to 
stand up and conduct themselves did no one 
tell them how?” J 

Already there was a sullen, sinister note 
in the deep voice of the gathering crowd. 



LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 225 


Sentiment liad not yet risen to a great pitch, 
but the more solid citizens of old New York 
were beginning to doubt the advisability of 
permitting fights like this within the cor¬ 
porate limits. Astor, for one, was dead 
against them. 

“Let them go out into the country, up 
Greenwich way, or Chelsea, if they must 
fight!” he said. “There they do no harm 
when they riot later. Here they keep sober 
citizens, who’d be getting a night’s sleep to 
refresh them for the next day’s work, 
awake—they destroy property, and do all 
manner of mischief.” 

Pat trembled faintly as she waited alone, 
while Reilley slipped in through a back 
door, known only to a few. She was afraid 
of this crowd; afraid of the tremendous 
forces it represented, held in check by so 
slender a bond of authority. And, some¬ 
how, as she listened to it, her purpose in 
coming grew to seem more and more diffi¬ 
cult, if not impossible, of attainment. 



226 LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 


This many-headed beast of a crowd that 
she heard snarling had scented its prey, and 
was waiting, hungrily. It would not be 
balked. It must have its way—and woe be¬ 
tide whoever stood in that way! 

“Pss-t! Pat! Quick now—and still—” 

Reilley’s voice checked her meditations. 
Swiftly she obeyed his call; found her¬ 
self a moment later inside the fire house. 
She looked about her at once, with the swift 
interest she always took in anything 
new. 

She had another view now of the wide 
doors on the opposite side, against which 
she had seen the crowd surging and beating 
in its effort to get inside. In the center of 
the great room was the ring, a platform 
raised about six feet from the floor, with 
ropes strung all about it and steps leading 
up to it. 

At one end of the room she saw a door, 
and within it the beginning of a circular 
stairway. That must lead, she guessed, to 


LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 227 


the tower in which was hung the great bell 
she had heard sounded a score of times or 
more since she had come—the bell that gave 
warning to all New York that fire had 
broken out. 

This fire house was a great meeting place, 
as Pat knew. The firemen were all volun¬ 
teers, and the house was, for them, much 
like a club. Only two or three of them, 
chosen in rotation, slept in the house at 
night; enough to start the wagons and the 
hose reels out, while the rest of the company, 
at the sound of the alarm bell, would come 
swiftly as possible from their homes. 

Pat liked the looks of the helmets and 
uniform coats, hung neatly on hooks on the 
wall at one side of the room. The whole 
place was neat and clean. But the sight of 
Rachel Brewster soon turned her thoughts 
into less pleasant channels. 

Rachel was in her glory, making ready for 
the crowd. She had set up both a bar and 
a refreshment booth, and to this latter Del- 



228 LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 


monico, who, what with his restaurant and 
his task of catering for the trial trip of the 
Clermont, had had the busiest day of his 
career, had just brought a great basket full 
of sandwiches. 

“You’re late, you tricky Eyetalian, you,’ 1 
said Rachel. 

“I cannot help!” said Delmonico, with 
many gestures. 4 4 My beautiful restaurant is 
full of fine gentlemen!” 

Rachel shrugged her shoulders and busied 
herself counting the sandwiches. But old 
Bunny, the night watchman, half the night 
police force of the city, indeed, grunted. 

“These new-fangled notions will be the 
ruin of New York!” he said. “Time was 
when a man’s house was good enough for 
him to eat in, without wastin’ his money in 
restaurants!” 

Delmonico smiled ingratiatingly. 

“The times change, signor!” he said. 
“Last night I had ten customers for fried 
oysters! What do you think of that?” 


LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 229 


“All right—all right!”■ said Rachel. 
“How much, Delmonico?” 

Delmonico hesitated as he looked hack and 
forth from the great pile of sandwiches to 
Rachel. 

“Would fifty cents be too much?” he said, 
deprecatingly. 

“Fifty cents!” shrieked Rachel. “You 
robber! Where am I to make a profit if you 
take it all?” 

“You do not know!” said Delmonico. “It 
is terrible—the way the price of food goes 
up and up! I work all day and make noth¬ 
ing ! ’ ’ 

“Oh, take it and go!” said Rachel. 

Bunny listened to the din at the door; 
turned to Rachel then, with rather an 
anxious look: 

“I hope you won’t let them Butcher Hil¬ 
ler’s toughs get to much rum, Rachel, or 
they’ll go rampagin’ down Broadway, 
smashin’ lanterns and the like all night 
long!’* 



230 LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 


“Spare yourself worry, Bunny,” she said. 
“The bar is for the bloods. There’ll be 
plenty of them here now that Mr. Delavan’s 
backing my brother. Beer’s good enough 
for the others—and I promise you it’ll not 
be too strong for their heads!” 

Pat and Reilley wandered about during 
this colloquy. Once Pat stopped and looked 
at the bulletin board; her eyes clung, in a 
dreadful fascination, to the poster that pro¬ 
claimed the city’s standing reward of five 
hundred dollars for the apprehension of any 
thief. 

“Faith, I don’t know where to be hidin’ 
you! ” said Reilley. 6 ‘ They ’ll be openin ’ the 
doors next, and then it will be too late!” 

And, as if to point what he had said. 
Bunny turned to Rachel. 

“Maybe I’d better be letting them in, 
Rachel. There’s heavy bettin’ on the fight 
—and most of it on the Terror, from what 
I hear. They sound as if they wouldn’t wait 
much longer.’ 2 


LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 231 


“Small wonder there’s heavy betting on 
the Terror,” said Rachel. “Why wouldn’t 
they be ready to back him with that Bre- 
voort crying such odds against my brother ? 
But he’ll show them!” 

“Will I open, then?” 

“Wait—I’ll just run over to the house and 
see if Mr. Delavan and my brother are ready 
yet. They’ll be patient that much longer.” 

She turned toward the back door and 
started as she saw Reilley and Pat. She 
hated Pat, having seen that she had tried to 
stand in her way with Larry. 

“What do you want here?’’ she said, ag¬ 
gressively. 

“To see Mr. Delavan—where is he?” said 
Reilley. 

Rachel swallowed her anger. 

“At our house,’’ she said. “I’ll tell him 
you’re here.” 

But Bunny proved to be an obstacle less 
easily surmounted. As he spied Pat he came 
toward them. 


232 LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 


“You can’t bring that lad in here,” he 
said to Reilley. “ It’s against the law to al¬ 
low minors at a fight.” 

“We’re only waiting to see Mr. Delavan,” 
said Reilley. 

“Why couldn’t you say so at once?” 
grumbled Bunny. “All right—stay till he 
comes. But the boy must go then or I’ll 
arrest him.” 

But just then the tumult at the doors was 
redoubled. Bunny started anxiously and 
ran toward them. But before he could reach 
them they gave way under the pressure of 
the mob, and the crowd came pouring in. 
None heeded Bunny’s puny efforts to drive 
it back, and he was swept down before it. 
Reilley and Pat were swallowed up and 
forced apart. 

Pat was half glad once her first fright 
was over, to be free. But her joy was short 
lived, for Bunny spied her and, glad of a 
chance to assert his authority over some one 
who must heed him, ordered her out. She 



LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 283 


tried, without much confidence, to face him 
down; at once the crowd swarmed about the 
rallying point thus provided. Reilley came 
up and joined her again. 

“Sure, and ’tis no use, Pat—you must 
go,” he whispered. 

“Good old Bunny—put the boy out—put 
him out—no place for boys!”' The crowd 
took up the cry. But suddenly Pat turned 
and, wriggling free from the grasp of Reil¬ 
ley’s hand upon her arm, dodging under 
Bunny’s arm, that was put out to stop her, 
got clear and faced the crowd. 

“You men!” she cried. “Is there one 
Irishman here?” 

There was a delighted shriek of assent— 
for five men in every six there were Irish. 
Pat looked about; she had gained a moment, 
at least. Now she spied the steps leading 
to the ring, and mounted them, still facing 
the crowd. 

“If you’ll let me stay,” she cried, “I’ll 
sing you a song such as you haven’t heard 





234 LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 


since you left the old country. What ’ll you 
have?” 

“Dance a jig! No—sing a song! A jig 
—a jig—Rory O’Moore—dance and sing 
both—” 

Pat reached the ring itself. Below a man 
with an accordion began to play the familiar 
tune of Rory O’Moore. She was triumphant 
now, for she knew the crowd was with her, 
and that, law or no law, Bunny dared not 
interfere again. 

But abruptly, as she sang, she saw a stir 
in the outer edges of the crowd. Her step 
faltered; her voice grew weak. It was 
Larry she saw coming, followed by Brevoort 
and Irving and other friends, clearing the 
way for Brewster and the Terror, who fol¬ 
lowed close behind. 

Larry sprang up into the ring beside her. 
He was angrier than she had ever seen him. 

“What does this mean?’ 2 he said. “Pat 
—I am ashamed of you—making a spectacle 
of yourself here! Go home at once!” 


LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 235 

“I—I’ll go—but—oh, Larry—please— 
won’t you come, too? It’s not too late— 
stop now, before you lose the little you have 
left!” 

Larry tried to control himself. 

“I owe you a great deal for what you did 
to-day, Pat,” he said. “Don’t anger me to 
the point of saying things I shall regret. 
Go home at once. I want no more talk or 
argument.” 

Pat’s brief sway over the crowd was 
ended. The sight of the fighters made it 
give tongue again like a wild beast; it wanted 
the fight now, nothing else. Pat, solitary, 
ashamed, had to stumble down the steps, to 
be met by Reilley, who waited there. The 
crowd laughed and jeered a little, but it had 
no time for Pat now. The moment of boys 
was over; this was men’s work that was* 
toward. 

“I warned you how it would be, ? ’ said 
Eeilley crossly. “Now I’m in Mr. Larry’s 
black looks because of you, and you none 




236 LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 


tlie better for it either! Come on home with 
you and no more nonsense !”- 

“Reilley—did you see the Terror?” said 
Pat. 

‘ 4 Sure and I did. And it’s the fine hoy 
he is!” 

“But, Reilley—he’s not like a man at all, 
with the great hairy chest of him, and those 
arms! He’s like a great monkey I saw 
a picture of once in a book! Sure, and 
no man could stand and fight against him 
—he’d he killed!” 

“All that’s hut your squeamishness, lad. 
Brewster’ll fight him and fight him hard. 
He’ll he beaten, maybe, hut he’ll live to fight 
many another day!” 

Reilley turned reluctantly away from the 
ring. He loved a fight; he was eager to see 
this one. Once more he looked back; was 
fascinated by the sight of the Terror, who 
was standing and facing in all directions to 
return the greetings of his backers. 

A moment later Reilley looked for Pat— 



Cosmopolitan Photoplay. Little Old New York 

“ PAT ” CONFESSES TO RINGING THE FIRE BELL AND BREAKING UP THE FIGHT. 








LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 237 


and found her gone! For a moment he was 
startled. Then he realized what must have 
happened. They were hard by the open 
door; Pat had run on. But he followed, 
calling, just to make sure. 


CHAPTER XVIII 


Within the fire house now something 
like order began to appear. Only one thing 
could hold that crowd in leash, even for a 
time—the prospect of the fight it had come 
to see. Some were still storming the bar, 
but gradually the shouts and cries of those 
near the ring, as the fighters posed and pos¬ 
tured, won the attention of even the thirst¬ 
iest from the wares that Rachel was dispens¬ 
ing. 

There were ovations for each of the fight¬ 
ers ; Brewster was cheered almost as loudly 
as the Terror himself. And why not ? The 
bookmakers had been busy; always willing, 
when the odds were long enough, to oblige 
those who wished to back a favorite, they 
had laid much money against the Terror— 

238 






LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 239 


standing to win five dollars or more for every 
one tliey undertook to pay out should the 
Terror be the victor. They had no hope of 
winning, but they knew, too, that a fight like 
this was one of the things they must expect. 
Every bookmaker must he prepared at times 
to lose some money—and does so cheerfully, 
for he is well aware that he is only casting 
bread upon the waters when he does so, and 
that his own will come back to him, and 
have grown in stature during its absence. 

Hence Brewster had the cheers of the Ter¬ 
ror’s backers, for it was to his willingness 
to engage in a hopeless venture that they 
owed this chance to take advantage of the 
layers of odds for once. 

Even Larry looked nervous as he saw the 
two men, stripped of their cloaks, stand side 
by side. The Terror, who rejoiced at home, 
if he had one, in the incongruous name of 
Percival Sweet, presented a monstrous ap¬ 
pearance. His chest was completely covered 
with hair. He had long, flail-like arms, end- 


240 LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 

ing in hands like hams. His legs were short; 
his body above the waist was enormous. And 
he possessed a natural ferocity of expression 
startling and repellent to the eye. 

Here plainly was a man so low in the hu¬ 
man order as to be just above the beasts. 
He w T ould fight like some ape of the jungles. 
Skill he might lack, and science, as many 
said—but what need had he of such aids to 
his thews and sinews ? He could see the man 
before him; he could drive home his blows, 
falling with the force that is behind a sledge 
hammer. And no more had ever been needed 
to bring him victory. His very garments, 
such as they were, spoke of his fighting 
trade. 

He wore trunks that had once, perhaps, 
been white, but were now of a dingy gray, 
save where they were streaked with rusty 
marks. 

“That’s blood on his trunks!” said one of 
the spectators in an awed voice. 

“Whose? His’n?” 




LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 241 


“Naw. From them he’s half murdered 
in the ring.” 

Brewster, in contrast, presented a figure 
neat, almost attractive. Not bad looking, 
he was rather stupid and loutish in appear¬ 
ance, and yet, beside the Terror, he had the 
look of a man of intellect. His trunks were 
newly made of sateen, and quite spotless; 
his white socks fairly gleamed. His flesh 
was white; no great knots of muscle stood 
out on his arms and legs as on the Ter¬ 
ror’s. 

He bowed and smiled in answer to the 
cheers; shook hands contemptuously with 
his rival at the referee’s order, and then 
lightly back to his corner, while the Terror 
lumbered to his with steps that shook the 
solid structure of the ring. 

Irving, for he had been asked, and had 
consented to act as referee, now gave both 
men their final instructions. Halleck and 
Larry were in Brewster’s corner as his sec¬ 
onds ; the Terror was supported by friends 


242 LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 


of his own kidney, villainous and brutal in 
aspect. 

“Are you ready, men?” called Irving. 
“Go, and may the best man win!” 

The fighters advanced from their corners, 
their eyes upon one another. The Terror 
crouched low; he made strange, animal-like 
noises as he moved. Brewster danced about 
before him; stepped aside and easily evaded 
the first blow the Terror launched, and then 
skillfully shot his first to the side of the Ter¬ 
ror’s head. 

It was a hard blow, shrewdly placed; the 
crowd roared, first in approval, then in 
amazement. The Terror’s backers had been 
frightened for a moment; that blow was one 
that would have sent most fighters reeling 
to the floor. Brewster himself plainly ex¬ 
pected some such outcome, for he did not 
follow it up, but stood, instead, smiling, and 
half turning his head to watch the crowd 
that was cheering him. 

But to the Terror, plainly, such a blow 


LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 243 


was no more than a slap. He shook his head 
once and continued his advance. Indeed, 
before Brewster could recover his poise, the 
Terror’s left shot out and the pride of Man¬ 
hattan went down. 

Then, indeed, Bedlam broke loose. Irving 
could be seen above the prostrate Brewster, 
his hand rising and falling as he counted. 
But, though some of the crowd thought 
Brewster was out, the fight was not to end 
so soon. Brewster struggled to his feet be¬ 
fore the count of ten was finished and Irv¬ 
ing waved the Terror to his corner—for 
these were the days when a knockdown still 
ended a round. 

“He hit me when I wasn’t looking!” 
Brewster gasped as Larry and Halleck 
dragged him to Ms corner. 

“It’s your business to be looking,” said 
Larry curtly. “Come, my man—you must 
do better than that! Not too much water 
there, Fitz—bad for his wind!”* 

“It’s something for his heart he needs, 


244 LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 


if you ask me/- murmured Halleek. 

“Time!” called Irving from the center of 
tlie ring. 

Brewster was more careful now. He was 
far lighter on his feet than the Terror; he 
moved about the ring with far more agility 
than the other had at his command. And 
for the time it seemed that Brewster’s ob¬ 
jective was to keep out of the range of his 
enemy’s terrible fists, seizing an opportunity 
whenever it occurred to send home a blow 
on his own account. 

But there was no steam in Brewster’s 
punches; against some opponents such blows 
as he danced in to deliver might have served 
him well, but they made no impression upon 
the Terror. He laughed once and shook his 
head lightly when one of Brewster’s taps 
went straight to the point of his chin. But 
he had not really felt a blow yet, and it was 
becoming more and more evident as time 
went on that Brewster was hopelessly out¬ 
classed. 


LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 245 


His real skill in footwork and the alert¬ 
ness with which he maintained his guard 
against the Terror’s wild attempts to drive 
home a telling blow prolonged the fight from 
round to round, but only prejudice and par¬ 
tisanship of the most intense sort could 
foster any doubt as to the final outcome. 

Brewster’s plan was plain enough and the 
right one, too, for him to follow. He was 
trying to wear his man down; tire him by 
keeping him continually on the run in an 
effort to catch him. He hoped that his su¬ 
perior condition and better wind—for the 
Terror’s breathing was fast at times—would 
enable him to hang on until the other was 
exhausted. Then—ah, then he would strike 
home—he would show these fools who were 
betting five to one against him what a mis¬ 
take they had made. 

No one could properly accuse Brewster 
of lacking courage. Afraid he was; afraid 
of those terrible fists, of the brutal, un¬ 
earthly strength of the appalling creature 



246 LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 


who was opposed to him. But not to he 
afraid of the Hoboken Terror as he looked 
that night would have required a man of no 
brains at all. And it took bravery, of a sort 
at least, to overcome the fear the Terror in¬ 
spired and stay to face his bull-like rushes, 
the tremendous swinging blows he delivered 
at random. 

More than once Brewster, try as he would, 
was caught; twice he went down and stag¬ 
gered to his feet just in time to escape be¬ 
ing counted out. 

He was really putting up a masterly de¬ 
fensive fight. But the crowd was like all 
crowds; it hated and despised such tactics, 
and there began now to be loud cries to the 
Terror. 

“ Finish him—go in and catch him—one 
to the jaw and you’ve got him! What is 
this—a dancing show or a glove fight? 
Finish him off—we want to get our money 
and go home!” 

In Larry all hope was nearly dead. He 



LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 247 

could see now Llow utterly Ms man was out¬ 
matched and outclassed. Brewster was a 
good, ordinary fighter, entirely capable of 
beating nearly all of those he was likely to 
meet. But in the Terror he faced one of 
those prodigies of the ring who appear per¬ 
haps once in a generation; survivors of some 
primeval race of battlers. 

And Larry could see, moreover, how the 
jeers of the crowd were affecting Brewster. 
Soon he would lose his head; give up the 
tactics that alone had prolonged the fight 
thus far and lay himself open to the full 
force of one of the Terror’s blows. And 
that would be the end. 

Once more Brewster was knocked down; 
once more recovered just enough, and just in 
time, to earn the right to rest and fight again 
in the next round. Halleck was out of all 
patience with him; less accustomed to the 
ring and its ways than either Larry or Bre- 
voort, he thought Brewster was showing 
the white feather. 


248 LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 


“Don’t quit, man!” lie said. “Be a man 
—show some pluck! Don’t you know that 
Mr. Delavan has bet every penny he has in 
the world on you? Go out and fight next 
time—” 

“He’s doing the best he can, Fitz,” said 
Larry. “I know that, Brewster. Mr. Hal- 
leck doesn’t understand.” 

“It’s—it’s all right—said Brewster. 
He was a dreadful sight by now. While 
none of the Terror’s worst blows had 
reached him, he had still been badly 
punished. Half his teeth were gone; he was 
bleeding at the nose and mouth; one ear was 
torn. A punch in the stomach was still trou¬ 
bling him: he was like a swimmer taken with 
a cramp. “I—I’ll get him yet—wearing 
him down—my time’s coming—” 

“That’s the right spirit, my lad!” said 
Larry. “Win or lose—never say die!” 

But now, as Larry had feared, the level 
head that Brewster thus far had managed 
to keep, began to be shaken. His ordeal was 



LITTLE OLD NEW; YORK 24& 

terrific. He liad to face the constant menace 
of tlie crouching, snarling Terror; he had 
to hear the crowd, crying for his finish, 
mocking him as a coward, taunting him, 
hurling every sort of vile epithet at him for 
doing what he knew was the right and only 
thing for him to do. 

He was human—and indeed a wiser man 
than Brewster could well have been, might 
have been forgiven for beginning at last to 
yield to the clamor of the crowd. He be¬ 
gan to show more daring; to expose himself 
more and more to the constant blows that 
the Terror rained in his direction. Eor 
him there was no difficulty in penetrating 
the Terror’s guard and driving home his 
own blows. The danger lay in his inability 
once he had succeeded in hitting the other 
to get away without being hit himself. 

Yet now he took that chance, again and 
again. The crowd roared its approval— 
this was beginning to be a fight after all 
and not a race or a dancing match. But, try 


250 LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 


as lie would, Brewster could not shake the 
complacency of his terrible foe. His hard¬ 
est blows, blows with which he had stretched 
many a good man senseless in this very ring, 
affected the Terror no more than the blows 
of a switch would affect a rhinoceros. Once, 
to show his supreme disdain of his rival, he 
dropped his arms and let Brewster rain 
blows upon him at will. And in his own 
time he swung and fairly lifted Brewster 
into his own corner, knocking Halleck half 
way through the ropes as he landed. 

The end of the round saved Brewster 
once more. But all could see now that the 
end was in sight. And when the next round 
began there was a new ferocity about the 
Terror; a new sort of grim determination in 
his narrow, piglike eyes. 

“He’s going to finish him this time!’* 
yelled one of the Terror’s henchmen, and the 
amiable Percival looked about and nodded 
confirmation. 

. Brewster reverted to his old tactics. But 


LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 251 


lie was nearer to exhaustion now than the 
man he had set out to tire. And the Terror 
pursued him relentlessly, until at last he 
cornered him. He raised his hand. And 
when he was about to drive home the last 
fierce blow, a sudden wild pealing of the 
bell above it made the crowd rise and stare. 

The Terror stayed his hand, puzzled and 
frightened. And the bell kept up its clamor; 
its brazen tongue roared out the dread mes¬ 
sage of “Fire! Fire! Fire!** 


CHAPTER XIX 


All about the ring men started to their 
feet in wonder and alarm. Fire! That bell 
had no other meaning. Some there were 
who did not care; who cried to the Terror 
to go on about Ms bloody business and make 
an end of it. But everywhere among the 
crowd were firemen, men who rose as in¬ 
stinctively to the call of that tocsin as they 
raised their hands to ward off: a blow. And 
among them too were those whose homes 
lay within sight of the house; none knew 
but that it was his home that burned. 

Only a leader was needed in that moment. 
And suddenly Brewster, ignoring the Ter¬ 
ror, who waited, Ms slow, dull wits adjust¬ 
ing themselves with difficulty to this new 
situation, put his hand to his mouth and 

252 






LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 253 


shouted. His voice rang out over all the 
din; even over the clamorous, pealing belL 

* 4 Fire! ’ ’ he shouted. ‘ 4 Fire—follow me! ’’ 

And before the Terror realized what was 
happening, Brewster leaped the ropes and 
led the assault upon the hooks where coats 
and fire helmets hung. 

Here and there in the crowd some saw a 
light—or thought they did. 

“Fake! Fake!” one cried. “He had the 
bell rung to save himself! Make him go 
back and fight!” 

But the firemen, with Brewster at their 
head, formed a veritable phalanx now. They 
knew their minds and what they meant to 
do. And those who would have opposed 
them were of as many minds as there were 
men in the room. The firemen swept 
through irresistibly to the door; in a mo¬ 
ment they were out, and dragging engine 
and hose cart off. 

44 There—I see the glare! ’ ’ cried one. And 
they rushed to the north, where, indeed, the 




254 LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 


sky was reddened by the glare of a great 
fire. 

But this fire was one of many that had 
been lighted to help to celebrate the triumph 
of Robert Fulton and the Clermont . So 
they found when they came close to it. And 
no one whom they met could tell them where 
was the true fire that they sought. 

Back in the fire house, while the crowd 
surged about and raged, half in, half out, 
Larry Delavan was one of the few who kept 
his head. Suspicious from the first, he satis¬ 
fied himself by a few questions that none 
of those regularly authorized to give an 
alarm of fire by ringing the bell had done 
so. And then, in a rage, he turned to Rachel 
Brewster. 

“I believe you rang that bell to save your 
brother!” he cried. 

She turned upon him like a vixen. 

‘ ‘ Liar! ’ ’ she cried. ‘ ‘ He needed no saving 
—he’d have won! You know why that bell 




LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 255 

sounded—you who were afraid to lose your 
dirty dollars!” 

In the ring Irving, standing alone, made 
himself heard at last. 

“Hear me!’ 2 he cried. “As referee, as 
this fight was ended in disorder, I declare 
all bets off!’’ 

“There—there’s your friend to help you 
out!” Rachel cried. 

Some of the crowd had heard her. The 
rumor ran like wildfire; in its outskirts the 
charge against Larry was believed at once. 
He stood as white as his own shirt, utterly 
aghast—a picture of guilt if ever a man 
was. 

“Nonsense!” cried Brevoort with swift 
and generous loyalty. “Do you think a 
gentleman and a Delavan would play so 
scurvy a trick? For shame!” 

“Gentleman or Delavan I know a welcher 
when I see him!” cried Rachel. She was 
all virago now; such few restraints as had 




256 LITTLE OLD MW YORK 


bound her before were lost. “If I were a 
man I’d thrash you—I’d help to string you 
up to the nearest lamp post—welcher— 
welcher—welcher! ’ ’ 

And it was in this moment that Pat chose 
to come down the stairs from the bell tower 
to seek escape. Brevoort saw her first; cried 
out and a moment later could have bitten 
out his tongue as he realized what must be 
the truth. Larry turned; so, like a shot, did 
Rachel. Triumph blazed in her eyes. 

“Aye—and there’s the sneaking brat that 
did his dirty work for the welcher!’’ she 
cried shrilly. “I saw him about before the 
fight and ordered him home—and he sneaked 
back behind me back! ’ ’ 

“Pat!” cried Larry in agony. “Tell me 
you didn’t do it—I’ll believe you, boy, 
whether any one else does or not!”* 

“Sure, and I can’t tell you that, for I 
did!” she cried in answer. “Wasn’t it the 
only way to save you from losing every last 
dollar you have left in all the world?” 






LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 257 


“Good God!” groaned Larry. 

“The fine gentleman he is!” shrieked 
Rachel. “There’s his honor for you—set¬ 
ting the boy to do his work and then not 
havin’ the courage to own up! Shame— 
shame—shame! ’ ’ 

Suddenly she sprang toward Pat, who 
shrank back against the wall, afraid of this 
woman as she would have been of no man. 
But Larry saw and stepped between 
them. 

“Hands off! Be still, you!”- he said 
sternly to Rachel. “I tell you there’s some 
mistake here. I knew nothing of this!” 

“Of course he didn’t!” said Brevoort. 
“Pat should be whipped—but he’s only a 
little boy who knew no better!” 

Irving was listening with a face full of 
anxiety. Now he turned to Larry and whis¬ 
pered in his ear: 

“They’ve found it was a false alarm. I 
hear the mob coming back,” he said. “We 
must get out of here—there’s no telling 





258 LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 


what they 11 do when they hear the truth. 
And we can’t silence this wench.’’ 

“Right!” said Larry. “Thank God for 
your cool head, Wash! Come, Pat—come, 
gentlemen—we’ll go to my house—” 

Rachel made as if to bar their way, but at 
Larry’s stern command she stood aside and 
made no further effort to check them. But 
she sent after them a stream of language 
so vile that Pat cowered at the sound of it. 

Slowly they made their way across Bowl¬ 
ing Green to Larry’s house. The men were 
grave and stern. Pat began to realize for 
the first time the enormity of what she had 
done—in their eyes. They said nothing to 
her; the moment was too grave, was still too 
fraught with serious and dangerous possi¬ 
bilities for reproaches or scoldings. 

At the house Reilley was waiting. He 
cried out thankfully at the sight of Pat, then 
beset the others with eager questions, to 
which none made any reply. Larry turned 
to him. 



LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 259 


6; Double lock the doors—bar all the win¬ 
dows as stoutly as you can!” be said. 

They went upstairs then and stood look¬ 
ing toward tbe fire bouse. They could see 
tbe mob come back; could see, too, bow 
Rachel met them and ber vehement gestures 
as she cried out ber news. And then she was 
pointing—pointing straight toward them. 

“Now she’s telling them,” said Irving. 
“Almost time to look for our guests to be¬ 
gin arriving, Larry!’ 1 

Now they could see tbe Terror, the same 
dreadful figure be bad been in tbe ring, fac¬ 
ing tbe crowd and shouting to it. Tbe next 
moment something flashed in bis band. 

“God—look at that whip he’s got!” said 
Brevoort, and shivered. “I’d as soon be 
bung as have him lay that on my back!” 

“Ready, 1 ’ 1 said Irving. “Here they 
come.” 

The Terror bad turned toward them, and 
now, with a wild wave of bis band, be began 
to run across the Green and toward them. 


260 LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 


Behind him came the mob, shrieking, clam¬ 
orous and ugly in its rage. 

Suddenly Larry turned to Pat. 

“For God’s sake, Pat!” he cried, “why 
did you do it?” 

‘ 4 1 told you! ’ ’ she cried. ‘ ‘ I couldn’t bear 
to see you losing the little you had left—to 
him!” She fixed baleful eyes on Brevoort. 
'“Now you know! I tried to save you!” 

“And what you’ve done is to brand me 
to the whole city as a coward—a cheat—a 
trickster who bets and tries to get out of 
jDaying when he loses!” 

“Oh!” cried Patricia. For the first time 
some conception of the enormity of what she 
had done came to her, and helpless to check 
herself, she burst into tears. Larry turned 
away with a gesture of helpless irrita¬ 
tion. 

“Never mind, Larry—he’s only a boy,” 
said Irving, “and we’ve no time to bother 
with all that now. This looks as if it might 
be an ugly business. ,J 



LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 261 


The mob was coming. It was at the gate ; 
now it was beating upon the door. 

“ They ’ll have it down in a minute—no 
door can stand against that sort of pound¬ 
ing!” said Irving. 

“Here!” said Larry, “I’ll speak to them. 
I can stop them—” 

“You’re mad!” said Brevoort. 

“No—no—he shan’t go!” wailed Pat. 

“Listen to reason, man,” said Irving. 

“Do you suppose I care what they do to 
me?” cried Larry furiously. “They think 
me a cheat—I’ll show them at least I’m not 
a coward!” 

And pushing Irving away he sprang down 
and rushed to the door, too swift for the 
others, who were on his heels, to stop him. 
He flung the door open and so sudden was 
his appearance that the Terror, who stood 
there, his great whip raised, started back. 

“You—you—cheat!” cried the Terror. 
“Stopped the fight—kept me from win¬ 
ning—” 



262 LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 


“Hang him! Tie him up and whip him! 
Make him pay all the bets we’d have won!” 

A hundred voices cried out a hundred de¬ 
mands for vengeance. The Terror and an¬ 
other man took hold of Larry, who stood, 
making no resistance, flinching not at all. 
Then suddenly a figure shot through the 
door. It was Pat, flinging herself upon 
the Terror, kicking and scratching. So 
startled was he by the sudden attack that 
he gave ground, and for a moment Larry 
was free; and for a moment, too, sheer 
amazement held the mob silent. 

“It was I rang the bell!” she screamed. 
“Mr. Delavan knew nothing of it. It’s me 
you want—not him.” 

“Pat—go back!” cried Larry. 

But she ignored him. Her fighting blood 
was up. 

“Yes—me—you cowards!^ she cried. 
“Oh, you’re brave enough when you’re a 
hundred to one! I did it—to save him from 



KITTLE OLD NEW YORK 263 

losing to cowards like you! There’s the 
truth—take it and he damned to you!’ 2 

She stood there facing them. Larry 
reached a hand to draw her hack. But the 
Terror was swift to act for once. With a 
wild yell he snatched Patricia from Larry’s 
grasp, swung her up into his arms and 
rushed off, hack through the garden with 
the mob yelling and shrieking as, guessing 
his design, it followed him. 


CHAPTER XX 


Sheer instinct kept Pat fighting as the 
Terror carried her off. Never in all her life 
had she known such fear as this. The man’s 
great arms crushed her; the brute in him, 
never far below the surface of his precarious 
veneer of civilization, was roused as it had 
not been even during the fight with Brew¬ 
ster. 

Everything conspired to lash the Terror 
to a frenzy; to animate him; to fill him with 
a cruel and malignant purpose. The mob, 
howling and roaring about him as he ran; 
the slender, kicking figure that he held, 
fists beating upon him, thin voice screaming 
at him; the torches that cast a ruddy glare 
over everything; the knowledge that he had 
in hi§ power, to do with as he pleased, a 

264 






LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 265 


member of a class that be despised, bated 
and—feared. 

For tbe Terror tbis was a nigbt of nigbts. 
He loved adulation and tbe sbouts of a mob. 
And be was in a position of supreme au¬ 
thority now; never, in bis life before, bad 
bis passion for glorifying bimself bad sucb 
rich food to feed upon. 

Some in tbe mob must bave known that 
there could not, in tbe very nature of things, 
be much time for what was to be done. They 
bad seen Larry and bis friends rush out 
after them; might bave guessed tbe signifi¬ 
cance of tbe way that Larry checked tbe 
others as they would bave followed; might 
bave known, even without bearing bis 
words, what be was saying. 

For Larry alone in tbis crisis bad kept 
bis bead. When Brevoort and Halleck 
would bave rushed blindly on to destruction 
in an effort immediately to rescue Pat, and 
even Irving, carried away by bis pity, would 
bave followed blindly, regardless of tbe 


( 



266 LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 


impossibility of accomplishing anything 
against such odds, Larry assumed the lead¬ 
ership. 

“What are you stopping us for?” Bre- 
yoort cried angrily. “They’ll kill that boy 
—there’s murder in that brute—” 

“Don’t argue now—get help—get help!” 
cried Larry. “There’ll be some at Del- 
monico’s—others at all the houses. Get 
arms—but tell every one not to use them 
unless we must! Hurry—hurry— 

“He’s right!” shouted Irving. “We’re 
no good alone—but we can raise enough to 
get him away from them—” 

And meanwhile the Terror rushed on, 
surrounded and followed by the mob. The 
sight of the whipping post, raised on a plat¬ 
form, checked him; the evil light in his eyes 
grew keener. He rushed up the steps to the 
platform and turned to face his followers, 
still holding Pat, limp now, and almost un¬ 
conscious, in his huge arms. 
v . “What’ll we do with him, mates?” cried 





LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 267 

the Terror. He pointed to the post. “ Trice 
him up—eh ? Whip him till the blood 
comes 

“Yes! Yes!’- 2 A mighty shriek of ap¬ 
proval answered him. “Whip him! Let’s 
see him bleed!”- 

“Take it out of his hide—that’s what we’ll 
do!’’ the Terror shouted. “Get a rope, 
some one— 

The Terror let Pat slip down, so that she 
stood swaying on the platform. But she 
was not free; he still held one shoulder in 
a vicious, crushing grip. A man came push¬ 
ing his way through the crowd carrying a 
rope; another brought the terrible whip the 
Terror had dropped as he ran, and as she 
saw them Pat, realizing what was in pros¬ 
pect for her, began once more to struggle. 

But she had no chance. They only 
laughed at her struggles. One man held 
her; another tied her hands together in 
front of her with one end of the rope; a 
third, the loose end of the rope in his teeth, 





268 LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 


swarmed up the post and passed it through 
the ring that was driven into the post near 
its top. In a moment others began to pull 
on the rope and Pat felt herself drawn up, 
her face to the post, her back to the mob. 

Now the Terror took the whip. He 
smiled horribly as he felt its weight; there 
was foam on his lips. Here was such work 
as he had been born for! 

“Go to it!” cried the mob. “Whip him 
till he can’t stand. Take it out of his hide! 
Show these dirty welchers they can’t trick 
honest workingmen! Kill the gentleman!” 

The Terror drew back his arm. The whip 
hissed and cracked as he swung it. It fell 
—but harmlessly, striking the platform. 
A roar of angry disappointment rose from 
the crowd, but the Terror lifted his hand 
for silence. 

“The blood will come faster through the 
bare skin—and you can see it better!” he 
cried. 

And he turned and with his left hand 




FRILLS AND FURBELOWS. 














LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 269 


seized the top of Pat’s jacket and shirt and 
ripped it. The jacket and the shirt were 
cleanly torn; they fell away, and even the 
Terror caught his breath at the whiteness 
of the soft skin beneath. And now Pat’s 
last defense was down indeed. She shrieked 
out in her agony. 

“Stop!” she screamed. “For the love of 
Heaven, stop! I’m a girl!” 

Only the Terror perhaps actually heard 
her words in the wild tumult that was ris¬ 
ing all about the platform, but he had heard. 
His eyes were like saucers; he stared, 
dumbfounded and amazed for a moment, 
then: 

“Drop the rope!” he snarled, and the 
men who were holding Pat obeyed and let 
her slide down, to stand so faint and sick 
that she almost collapsed. But the Terror’s 
hand snatched at her again; spun her 
around; tore then at her shirt. She grasped 
it quickly, covering herself. But the Terror 
had seen enough. 


270 LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 


And now Pat found that there were depths 
of fear and horror that she had not plumbed 
before, even when the great whip had curled 
about her shoulders. The look in the Ter¬ 
ror’s eyes was one she had never seen before, 
but that she understood and shrank from 
on the instant. His hands were opening 
and closing; his breath came in great, short 
pants; his bloodshot eyes never left her. 

For the moment he had forgotten the mob. 
But by this time it, too, knew the truth, and 
even in her fear and consternation snatches 
of its dirty, ugly talk came to Pat’s ears, 
and to the Terror’s, too, in time. He 
dropped his whip and turned to face it. 

“ There ’ll be no whipping here!’* he 
shouted. “She’s mine—d’you see? I’ll 
punish her—but I ’ll do it alone! Get out! ’ ’ 
He seized her again as he finished; 
snatched her in his arms once more and be¬ 
gan slowly to descend the steps. From the 
mob there came now a menacing roar; they 
cared nothing that this was a girl; in the 


LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 271 


mood those men were in a girl was no safer 
than a man from punishment. 

Pat had fainted at last; gained so a brief 
respite from fear and shame. The Terror 
went on down the steps slowly; a man tried 
to snatch at Pat and went down under the 
terrific impact of a great fist. Others were 
in the way; with one hand the Terror dealt 
with them. 

In a worthier cause the fight the Terror 
made against that mob would have been 
worthy of an epic; would have been heroic, 
magnificent, a theme for poets to dwell upon. 
It beat against him; assailed him from all 
sides; was driven back again and again. 
Men went down before his mighty blows as 
ninepins fall; lay still, unable or afraid to 
rise, and were trampled by their furious fel¬ 
lows. 

But gradually now something was happen¬ 
ing. The movement of the crowd was chang¬ 
ing. From its outskirts came a new sort of 
clamor; rage was giving way to fear. There 


J272 LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 


was hard fighting now; a new element had 
come into the situation. 

For Larry and the rest had rallied the 
forces of order. Larry was leading now a 
skillfully planned attack. The gentlemen 
who had answered the call were formed into 
a wedge; using their sticks they made their 
way through the mob, splitting it so that 
a path was opening to the storm center 
about the Terror. Larry reached him 
first; Reilley and Irving were close behind 
him. 

And now for the first time the Terror had 
to fight against real odds, and odds that 
daunted him—against courage finer than his 
own, since it was of the mind and not of the 
body alone, and against wits keener, more 
resourceful than his. He dropped Pat at 
last and Halleck snatched her away, protect¬ 
ing her as the others disposed of the rem¬ 
nants of the mob. And before the joint on¬ 
slaught of the three men the Terror went 
down at last under a rain of blows and lay 


LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 278 


a monstrous, fearful figure, bedaubed with 
blood and grime. 

“Pat! Pat!” cried Larry, turning to her 
so soon as he was free. “Are you hurt?” 

She opened her eyes, struggled to rise, and 
he supported her with one arm. 

“N-no,” she gasped. “I—Pm all right. 
Oh, Larry—if you don’t know it yet you 
soon will. I’m a cheat and a thief. ’Tis 
not Pat I am at all, but me own sister Pa¬ 
tricia!” 

“I know—I know!” he cried. “Thank 
God you’re safe—thank God we were in 
time.” 

Pat swayed as he spoke, and he caught 
her up in his arms. 

“Get her back to the house,” said Irving. 
“She can’t stand much more! Lord, what a 
night—what a night!” 

“She’s all right, I think,” said Brevoort 
anxiously. 4 ‘ Bid you ever see such spunk ? 
And a girl!” 

“Then—” Halleck’s voice rose in his ex- 



274 LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 


citement. “But then—Larry’s the heir—” J 

“I never thought of that!’- said Brevoort. 
“Gad—but it’s so!” 

“He hasn’t thought of it yet—and won’t,’^ 
said Irving dryly. “Not yet awhile at any 
rate.” 

Larry paid no attention to them. His 
eyes and his thoughts were all for Pat, who 
had fainted again and lay still and lifeless 
in his arms. 

“Hurry, Reilley!” said Larry. “Run on 
ahead while we bring her over. Get brandy 
—blankets—make things ready.” 

“Run is it!” said old Reilley under his 
breath as he began to move stiffly. “Sure, 
and it’s lucky I am that I can walk! But 
praise the Saints I’ve been in one more fight 
before my death!” 

Slowly and gently now, carrying Pat with 
care and tenderness, Larry began to move 
toward his house with the others as a body¬ 
guard. The Terror lay still where they had 
left him. 




LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 275 

And now, untouched by the fight, Bunny, 
the policeman, came stealing back—brave 
as you please now that the mob was gone. 
He spied the Terror lying on the ground; 
a stern light came into the one eye Bunny 
could still turn upon the world. He ap¬ 
proached the prostrate figure; stirred it 
cautiously with his foot. 

“Come over from Hoboken, will ye?” he 
said. “Murderin’ and rarin’ and keepin^ 
decent folk from their sleep! I’ll arrest ye 
—that’s what I’ll do!” 

Irving alone saw that bit of by-play; he 
was laughing as he followed Larry and the 
others into the house. 

Astor was there, greatly excited and con¬ 
cerned. He had some garbled version of the 
tale; he was hot with questions now. Larry 
ignored him; devoted himself first of 
all to placing Pat on a couch and covering 
her with one of the blankets Reilley had 
brought. 

“Gentlemen—he said. “Will you ex- 



276 LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 


cuse me—and leave me alone with Pat for 
a few minutes?”' 

“Of course—” said Brevoort. 

“Naturally—” echoed Halleek. 

“I don’t know,” said Irving, and shook 
his head with a smile. “I’m not sure it’s 
not the duty of your friends to stay with 
you just now, Larry V 1 

But as Larry was about to answer him 
hotly, Pat herself sprang to her feet. 

“I’m all right!’’ she cried. 4 ‘But I’m sick 
and tired of this masqueradin’! I want to 
be who I am—and I will be! ” 

And before any one could stop her she 
ran to the door and toward the stairs. 

“What does this mean?” cried Astor, 
startled. 

“Gentlemen V 1 said Larry. “Don’t ask 
me to explain yet—I can’t! But, as some of 
you know already, I have discovered that 
our little Patrick is not a boy at all, but a 
girl—is not young Patrick O’Day, but his 
sister Patricia!” 




LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 277 


Astor fell back. He looked very grave. 

“This—but this is a very serious matter, 
indeed! ’ ’ he said. i ‘ The Town Council must 
act upon this!” 

“Oh, stuff,” said Brevoort. “What dif¬ 
ference does it make? It’s all coming out 
properly now, Mr. Astor!” 

“I could not expect you to appreciate the 
gravity of such a matter, Mr. Brevoort!”' 
said Astor sternly. i t But I look to Delavan, 
here, for some good sense. He knows that 
this girl—if girl she is—has committed a 
crime—” 

“I know nothing of the sort!” said Larry 
furiously. “He—she couldn’t do anything 
that was wrong! I’d stake my life on 
that!” 

> “The plot,” said Irving, “does not begin 
to thicken—it is thick. I wonder now what 
will be the end of this!” 

“Old Astor’s furious,” said Halleck nerv¬ 
ously. “If Larry’s wise he won’t try to 
cross him to-night. There’s no doing any- 






278 LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 


thing with him when he looks like that. I 
know.” 

“I beg you, gentlemen,” said Larry. “I 
have no wish to seem inhospitable—but will 
you let Reilley bring your things and leave 
me for to-night? I will answer all your 
questions to-morrow—as fully and as early 
as you please! But to-night I must stand 
excused.’ 2 

But Astor was still grave. 

“Impersonation is a crime,” he said, “and 
there was intent to defraud. The girl is no 
better than a common thief such as you 
see in the stocks or tied to the whipping 
post every day. I must hold you responsible 
for her safe-keeping to-night if I leave her 
here, Delavan!” 

“You may hold me responsible for any¬ 
thing if you will only go now!” cried Larry 
rudely. 6 ‘ Reilley— ’ ’ 

“All right, Larry,’ 2 said Irving sooth¬ 
ingly. “We’re going this minute.” 

Tense and nervous Larry watched them 



LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 279 

go. Then, when Reilley came back from the 
door, Larry waved him away. 

“Go to bed, Reilley,” he ordered. “I’ll 
lock up down here and see that everything 
is right.” 

Reilley obeyed him without question, and 
then at the foot of the stairs Larry waited 
until at last he saw a shadow on the wall 
and a moment later Pat’s head peering shyly 
down toward him. 

6 6 Come, Pat, ” he said. ‘ ‘ Don’t be afraid. ’ ’ 

“It’s not afraid I am—it’s ashamed to 
show meself to you in clothes like these!” 

For all his deep emotion Larry had to 
laugh at that. 

“Don’t you dare to be laughin’ at me!” 
said Pat, and withdrew her head at once. 

“Pat—dear!” said Larry. “When I 
think of what might have happened to you 
to-night—” 

“Faith, then, and it didn’t, so let’s not 
be worryin’ over what might have been!” 
she said. “Oh, Mr. Larry—are you not 


280 LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 

angry with me? ’Tis all I care for—what 
might have happened or what may happen 
now won’t matter beside that!” 

“Angry!’* he said. “Oh, Pat—I’m so 
glad you’re a girl that I could—” 

“Ah, Mr. Larry, don’t you be sayin’ more 
until you’ve seen the sort of girl I am! 
Sure, you may not be likin’ me at all, at all, 
when you have.*’ 

And she turned and went up the stairs, 
down which she had come a little way. He 
sprang to follow her, but she checked him 
with her outstretched hand. 

“Wait till the mornin’s mornin'!” she 
begged. “Sure, ’tis not so long till then 
now!” 

He stopped, and at the head of the stairs 
she turned again and brushed her fingers 
with her lips and threw him so, the ghost 
of a kiss. 


CHAPTER XXI 


Morning came for Larry after a sleepless 
night. He was stirred and excited as he had 
never been before. And he was deeply wor¬ 
ried, too, for he knew old Astor and his 
stern and rigid adherence to his code. In 
Astor’s eyes a crime against property was 
the cardinal sin; he could forgive almost 
any offense more easily. 

Pat’s youth, her beauty, would move him 
not at all. He would not see her as a madcap 
girl, lured into a false position, as Larry 
knew she must have been; for Astor she 
would he only one who had sought by false 
pretense to gain what was not hers by right. 

These were stern days. The country and 
the city were still young; majesty was com¬ 
ing only slowly to attend upon the law’s 

281 



282 LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 


decrees and men like Astor, for wliose suc¬ 
cess stability was utterly essential, were 
merciless in their dealings with evil-doers. 
Harsh was the fate they meted out to those 
who stole that others might be deterred from 
following so evil and so dangerous an ex¬ 
ample. 

He was early at Pat’s door, knocking, 
pleading with her to come out, but there 
was no answer. Again and again in the 
early hours after the dawn he tried in vain 
to lure her out. He was anxious and dis¬ 
turbed when Brevoort and Irving came, full 
of anxious inquiries for him and for Pa¬ 
tricia. 

“How is she?’- 3 asked Brevoort. “Gad 
—she did as plucky a thing when she faced 
that mob as any of us will ever see!” 

“I don’t know how she is,” said Larry. 
“She’s locked in her room and won’t come 
out. The only soul she’s spoken to this day 
is Reilley.” 

“And here comes Reilley now,” said Irv- 


LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 283 


ing, looking through the window. “ Carry¬ 
ing a bundle nearly as big as himself!” 

Reilley looked confused when he came in 
and saw the three men staring at him; they 
seldom kept hours as early as this unless 
they had been up all night. 

4 ‘Where have you been?” asked Larry. 
“We want coffee—” 

“One moment, Mr. Larry,” said Reilley. 
“I’ve been on an errand for Mast—for 
Miss Patricia, and I had to wait till the 
store was open.” 

“What have you there?” asked Brevoort, 
poking at the bundle with his cane. 

Reilley smiled wisely. 

“Gentlemen, I promised not to % tell,” he 
said. “If you’ll be excusin’ me a moment 
while I run upstairs with it I’ll have your, 
coffee ready in no time. ’ ’ 

“ Go on with you then! ’ ’ said Larry, laugh¬ 
ing. ‘ ‘ There’s nothing for us to do but wait. 
But I suppose we can all guess what’s in 

that bundle—eh?”' 




284 LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 

“I can,” said Irving. “Larry—what do 
yon think ? Will Astor go through with his 
threat to take this whole business to the 
Town Council or can we make him listen to 
reason, do you suppose?” 

“We must,” said Brevoort. “He’s a stiff¬ 
necked old codger, but weVe some influence 
among us. I shall try what I can do, for 
one.” 

“And I,” said Irving. “But Astor’s a 
hard man to move once he’s made up that 
mind of his. Hello—what’s that?” 

There was a furious knocking at the door. 
,The next moment Halleck burst in. He was 
panting; plainly he had been running hard 
and fast. 

“And what ails youV* asked Brevoort. 

“ It’s — old — Astor! ’ ’ gasped Halleck. 
“He’s called a special meeting of the Town 
Council and he’s gone there now to start 
proceedings against him—I mean herA 2 

“Good Lord!” said Brevoort. 



Cosmopolitan Photoplay . 






























LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 285 

“It’s what I was afraid of!” cried Irving. 

Larry thought fast. 

“Halleck—you’re the best one to go,” he 
said. “Get to the meeting—let .us know 
what happens. Hurry, won’t you?” 

Halleck went to the door, but as he reached 
it he started back. Rachel Brewster and her 
battered brother were there, just coming in. 

“Be off!” said Larry angrily. “How 
dare you come into my house?” 

“I’ll show you how I dare!” cried Rachel 
shrilly. “I’m here and here I’ll stay until 
I find her. I’m within my rights—I want 
the reward there is for the catching of a 
thief—and I was the one spied her out first !” J 

“Get out!” said Larry, and took a step 
toward her, pointing to the door. 

Brewster blustered and moved toward 
Larry, who looked at him contemptuously. 

“No one is afraid of you!” he said. “Not 
after what you showed us last night.” 

Brewster looked sullen. 


286 LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 


“Last night!” he said, “I was just encour¬ 
agin’ the Terror so he’d fight me again! In 
another ten minutes I’d have beaten the head 
off of him!” 

“That’s all we want to hear from you!” 
said Larry sternly. ‘ ‘ I tell you again to go! 
This is my house and I’ll not have you in 
it!” 

“I’ll stay and you’ll not put me out, nor 
the likes of you, you welcher!” said Rachel. 
“Where is she—where are you hidin’ her 

“Go!” said Larry, and even Rachel 
quailed before the menace in his voice. 

But at that moment Irving, who stood in 
the door, cried out in astonishment. He 
snatched Larry’s arm. 

“Look!”- he said, pointing to the stairs. 

Pat was coming down. She was all woman 
now; older than she had looked as her own 
brother; lovely and appealing in her tim¬ 
idity. The men stood gaping; Brewster as 
much amazed and struck with admiration 




LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 287 


as any of the rest. But Rachel remembered 
only the reward this girl represented. She 
started for her with a cry of triumph, only 
to he roughly pushed aside by Larry, who 
rushed past her to Patricia. 

She looked at him, her eyes cast down. 

“Oh, Pat,” he said, “you’re wonderful!” 

And he held out his hand to her. She 
took it gracefully and he led her down the 
stairs. At their foot Brevoort and Irving 
waited to greet her. Brewster and his sis¬ 
ter were waiting, too, but now Reilley came 
back and at a gesture from Larry he drove 
the precious pair before him out into the 
garden. 

“Pat,” said Larrv, “may I have the honor 
of presenting two of my dearest friends— 
Mr. Irving, Miss O’Day, and Mr. Brevoort. 

Pat courtesied to them, laughing, but 
there were tears in her eyes as, with a 
courtly grace they kissed her hand. 

“I suppose that now, Miss O’Day,” said 


288 LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 


Irving, “you will be giving up that occa¬ 
sional pinch of snuff you have so much en¬ 
joyed?” 

“Go on with you!” said Pat. She dim¬ 
pled as she laughed. “Do you know, it was 
you I was most afraid of all the time, lest 
you be findin’ out I was not a boy at all?”' 

“You flatter me,” said Irving, bowing.* 
“But I fear I was as blind as the rest!” j 

Reilley still stood in the door, watching 
the Brewsters, who were lingering outside.' 
And now Irving, happening to look at him, 1 
saw a look of deep concern come into his 
expression. ; 

“What’s the matter, Reilley?” he asked, 
going over to him. 

For answer Reilley pointed down the path 
and Irving saw old Bunny, the policeman, 
coming up, wearing an air of great impor¬ 
tance and dignity. 

Inept and ridiculous a figure though 
Bunny had cut the night before, he was 
armed with all the majesty of the law, and 


LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 289 


he came in now with none to bar his way. 
He was breathing hard and, taking a docu¬ 
ment from his pocket, he spoke in a stern 
tone. 

“I have an order,he said, “for the ar¬ 
rest of one Jane Doe, sometime resident 
here and known as Patrick O’Day.” 

He looked about and spied Pat, who was 
shrinking away from him. He took a step 
toward her, his hand outstretched, but Larry 
pushed him aside. 

“Don’t you dare to interfere with me!” 
said Bunny. “She is to be brought before 
the Town Council forthwith to show good 
and just cause why she should not first be 
exposed in the stocks and then imprisoned 
for two years for the crime of fraudulent 
impersonation! ’ ’ 

All in the room stood staring at one an¬ 
other. Larry’s arm was about Pat, and now 
it tightened. He turned to her. 

“I’ll fight all of New york before they’ll 
ever put you in prison for this!’- 2 he cried. 


290 LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 


“I’m with you, Larry!’ 1 said Brevoort. 
“This is a stupid outrage—old Astor should 
have better sense! ’ ’ 

“He should—hut he hasn’t,” said Irving. 
“Anything that I can do—I stand with you, 
too, Larry, of course, as you know. You’re 
the only one would have been harmed—if 
you’re willing to let matters rest so should 
Astor and the Council. ’ ’ 

“Don’t worry, Pat,” said Larry. “They 
can’t touch you!” 

“The law’s the law,” said Fat, with a 
tragic sigh. “It’s bitter cause I’ve had to 
learn that in my time—in the old days at 
home. But all I’m askin’ is that they give 
me a chance to make an explanation first 
before they put me in the jail.” 

“Every prisoner has a right to be heard 
in his or her own defense,” said Bunny, 
enjoying the chance to hold the center of 
the stage. 6 1 But we must hurry—these great 
gentlemen of the Council are not used to 
being kept waiting. Come, gentlemen— 




LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 291 

you’ll only make matters worse if you resist 
the law.” 

“And that’s true, too,” said Irving. 
“Come—we can make Astor and the rest 
listen to reason. I don’t know Pat’s ex¬ 
planation but I’ll wager it’s a good one.” 

She gave him a grateful look for that. 
Save for Larry she liked him better than 
any man she had come upon yet in this wild 
land of America. 

“Come, then,’ 3 said Larry with a sigh. 
“I suppose they’re right, Pat—we must face 
the music. But we’ll do it together.” 

There was sheer adoration in the look that 
Pat gave him then and Irving turned away. 


* 

c 


i 


CHAPTER XXII 


The Council was in session when Pat was 
brought in by Bunny; Larry, Brevoort and 
Reilley following close behind. Close, too, 
were Rachel Brewster and her brother. Pat, 
more frightened than she wanted Larry to 
know, looked up quickly as she entered. The 
first familiar face she saw was Astor’s, but 
he scowled as his eyes met hers, and the 
timid smile with which she had begun to 
greet him was frozen on her lips. Mr. 
Schuyler, the banker, looked solemn; Chan¬ 
cellor Livingston, whom she recognized, 
grave and deeply concerned. • 

The great room, with its tall windows and 
its rich and heavy hangings, had an oppres¬ 
sive atmosphere. Yet Pat’s spirit soared 
free of depression, of fear, of gloom, almost 



LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 293 


at once. Before Bunny or Larry, who stood 
at her other side, could guess her intention, 
she darted from between them, ran around 
the long table in the center of the room 
and reached Astor. 

“Oh, Mr. Astor!” she cried, “you’ll not 
let them put me in jail, will you?’ 2 

A hushed murmur of protesting voices 
greeted her breach of etiquette. Astor, 
amazed and indignant, repulsed her. 

“Go back at once!” he said sternly. 
“This case is not one for me to decide alone. 
You will be dealt with in due form and 
course.” 

The clerk had ready the papers pertain¬ 
ing to the case and he handed them now to 
Astor, with a stern look at Pat. Astor read 
the charge, then turned to Patricia. 

“A trial seems to be unnecessary in this 
case,’ 2 he said. “There can be no dispute 
as to the facts. You did, as the charge re¬ 
cites, falsely represent yourself to be Pat¬ 
rick O’Day, your brother, named as heir in 


294 LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 


the will of the late Richard O’Day, well 
knowing that the said Patrick O’Day was 
dead. You did willfully, maliciously, and 
with full knowledge of the character of your 
actions, defraud Lawrence Delavan of what 
was rightfully his. 

“You have, in addition, been guilty of 
other offenses against the peace and dignity 
of the people. But it has been decided to 
overlook these and to press only the one 
charge against you, and failing the utterly 
improbable event of your being able now, 
upon the opportunity which, as I under¬ 
stand it, at your own request is given you 
to justify your conduct, you will be sent to 
prison for two years. You may speak if 
you believe that anything you say can affect 
the decision of the Council.” 

Larry started forward indignantly. 

“Two years in prison for that girl—you 
might as well kill her outright—” he cried. 

C C J_ 1 J 

“Shh—wait,” said Irving, seizing his 


LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 295 

arm. And Brevoort on his other side also 
held him back. 

“Let the girl speak—she can argue her 
case better than you, ’ ’ said Brevoort. ‘ 1 Gad 
—the councillors may be old men but there 
must be some hearts among the ten of them! 
Look at her, Wash—would you have the 
heart to punish her?” 

“You may speak,” said Astor again. 

“Sure, and I think ’twould make you be 
easier on me, like, if you knew why I did 
what I did,” she said. “May I be telling 
you the story?” 

Astor nodded. 

“If you do not take too long,” he said. 
“There is much other business before the 
Council to-day. ” j 

“Well, then,” said Pat, “you must be 
thinkin’ of me as a bit girl in Ireland, 
livin’ with my father and my young brother 
Patrick. Poor we were—poor as none of 
you can ever know people can be and still 
be decent. And all the time there was my 


296 LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 


uncle that had come here with the money 
my father had given him and grown rich— 
and us living on what scraps we could. 

“And then he died, as you know well— 
and by change of heart he had it in his mind 
to right the wrong he’d done his only brother 
and his closest kin. So it was he left his 
money to my brother—but ruled that within 
the year he must be here to claim it. 

“I mind the day that Mr. Astor’s lawyer 
found us—just when we were bein’ put out 
of our cottage. My father was like a wild 
man—my brother had his death upon him 
then. But there was no time to nurse him 
—with the money there was then he could 
have been made well had we had months in¬ 
stead of the bare weeks to bring him here 
to claim what was his. 

“So, as sick as he was, we made our way 
to London with the lawyer and took ship 
and started for America, and the terrible 
rough voyage that it was! The very sailors 
said they’d never seen the like, nor known 


LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 297 


a ship to live through such storms as came 
upon us. And all the time my brother Pat¬ 
rick grew worse and worse—until, at long 
last, while we were still upon the sea, he 
died,” 

She paused; there were tears in her eyes, 
and Irving squeezed Larry’s arm in sym¬ 
pathy. 

“So there we were,” Pat went on, “my 
father and myself, bound for a strange land, 
where we had neither friends nor kin. And 
in my father’s sight his brother’s money, 
that his brother could never have made with¬ 
out the help that he had lent him, was 
marked to go to one of them that had turned 
my uncle from his own.” 

She turned to look at Larry. 

“You’ll remember that he was not know¬ 
ing Mr. Larry then,” she said, “and of him 
he thought as one of the Delavans that had 
made his brother forget his duty. 'Grasp¬ 
ing’ he called him and 'mean,’ and all man¬ 
ner of things beside—and thought he spoke 




298 LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 


the truth. And in his wildness the father 
of lies put this lie into his mind—that I 
should put on my little brother’s clothes and 
we pretend that it was I, not Pat, that had 
died. 

“I thought nothin’ of it at that time— 
sure, and what was I, a girl like me, to be 
thinking of, going against my own father? 
But—when w T e came—I was afraid. That 
very night I begged him not to make me go 
on. But when I saw the way that it made 
him, me opposing him and crossing him, I 
was silent for very shame. 

“I was alone with him when he died. 
Reilley knows that!’- 2 

She looked about for Reilley and looked 
at him appealingly and Reilley rose and 
bowed. 

“She speaks the truth there, gentlemen. 
The late Mr. O’Day ordered me from his 
room, and I understood that he had some¬ 
thing to say before he died not for my ears.” 

Astor nodded. 





LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 299 

“That you were influenced to pursue your 
course is known and has been taken into 
account already,” he said. “You may not 
realize how greatly that fact has tempered 
the judgment of the Council.’ 3 

i ‘ Then God help the poor devil for whom 
they can’t find any extenuation! ’’ said Larry 
bitterly under his breath. A'stor and one 
or two of the others looked at him sharply, 
but nothing was said to him. 

“He made me swear while I held his dying 
hand!” said Pat. “He made me take an: 
oath that I would keep on as I had begun! 
What could I do after that? Would you 
have had me false—and had him come back 
to haunt me? He died in peace for what 
I did that I knew was wrong—if I’m to go 
to prison for that, then I must go! 

She looked desperately from one to an¬ 
other of her judges. In none of the eyes; 
that were fixed upon her was there a trace; 
of pity. These men were stern, implacable. 
Property had become their God—and here 



300 LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 


was one who had offended against that God. 

“Can you not see?” cried Pat. “He was 
mad—my father that I loved—that had 
cared for me and tended me all my life! 
Mad—driven into madness by misfortune 
and sorrow! He had seen my mother die 
for lack of the things she should have had. 
And now, with peace and ease and for¬ 
tune in our grasp—everything was lost 
again! 

“And he had seen his only son die—who 
would be living now but for the cruel will 
his uncle made. Is it so great a wonder that 
my father was beside himself? He was a 
good man—as good a man as any of you! 
In his right senses he would never have 
thought of doing a thing against the law to 
do. But do you know, you, any of you, that 
had you been tempted as he was you would 
have been stronger than he?” 

“Beside the point,”- said Schuyler, inter¬ 
rupting her. “I cannot see, gentlemen, that 
the prisoner is adding any new information 





LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 301 


jto that which we already possess concerning 
this caseA 2 > 

One by one the others nodded. Only in 
[Actor’s eyes was there any sign of a change. 
In Larry, as he looked at the old merchant, 
a faint hope began to dawn. And now, in¬ 
deed, Astor spoke. 

“Gentlemen,” he said, “I am disposed to 
feel that some further deliberation of this 
case may be required, even though it is un¬ 
likely that our decision can be altered. I 
suggest, however, that instead of remanding 
the prisoner at once to jail, she be left in my 
custody until this afternoon. ” 

Schuyler looked bored; one or two of the 
others were puzzled. But Chancellor Liv¬ 
ingston nodded, gravely. 

“I agree,” he said. 

It was not often that a decision reached 
jointly by Astor and Livingston was chal¬ 
lenged by the rest. Nor was it done in this 
instance. 

“Wait here,’ ? said Astor, gruffly, as, the 


302 LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 


other councillors went out. He beckoned to 
Reilley, and spoke to him in a low tone, 
after which Reilley disappeared. Pat was 
with Larry; Irving and Brevoort stayed 
close to them, and Halleck, with nervous 
glances at Astor, presently joined them. 

“I think it’s going to be all right!” said 
Irving. “ Astor’s on our side, though he 
hates to admit it—he was more moved when 
Pat was telling her story than I have ever 
seen him.” 

“She shan’t go to prison!” said Larry, 
fiercely. 

“That is not for you to say, Larry,”- said 
Astor. “The decision is yet to be made. 
For now—you will stay here, all of you, 
while I attend to some business that awaits 
me. I shall be back soon.” 

It was Irving who led the others to the 
window then, so that Larry and Pat were 
left alone. 

“Larry—tell me you’ve forgiven me!^ 




LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 303 

said Pat. “It’s nothin’ I’m caring for the 
others—” 

“Pat—Pat, dearest— r ” Larry’s voice was 
broken. “I’ve nothing to forgive—I’ve 
everything to thank you for! Except for 
you I’d have gone on making a fool of my¬ 
self, as I always did before you came! 

“I’ve learned now what it means to he 
poor—I shall be the better able to handle 
riches. And—what’s mine is yours—just 
as you tried to make mine what was 
yours—” 

A gleam of pure mischief lighted up Pat’s 
eyes. 

“How can that be, Larry?” she asked. 
“Sure, it’s a young lady I am now, and not 
a wild boy—and young ladies cannot be 
taking money from gentlemen unless—” 

“You witch!” cried Larry. “Don’t you 
know I mean—” 

“Patricia!”' 

Astor’s stern voice interrupted them. 



304 LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 


“Yes, sir,” she said, meekly, turning to 
him. 

Behind him, in the door, stood Reilley—* 
and he had with him the two small trunks 
that Pat had brought with her to Larry’s; 
house. 

“I have reached a decision concerning 
you,” he said. “One of my ships is sailing 
for London on this tide. You must sail upon 
her. Reilley is here to take you and your 
boxes aboard.” 

Eor a moment Pat, dazed, did not fully 
understand. Then a cry of gratitude burst 
from her. 

“Then it’s not to prison I’m to go?” 

“Not this time,’’ said Astor, gruffly« 
“You have had a very narrow escape, young 
lady. If Mr. Delavan had not been gener¬ 
ous enough to forgive your attempt to 
despoil him of his inheritance, and if I had, 
not been even more anxious to do him di 
favor than to uphold the law—’ ? 

He stopped, significantly. There were 


LITTLE OLD NEW; YORK 305 

tears in Pat’s eyes as she turned to Larry. 

“Oh, I must go!’- ? she said. “Good-by, 
Larry—and thank you for all you’ve done 
for me! Will you—will you he missin’ me 
a little when I’m far away across the 
sea?” 

“He will not,’ 2 said Astor, dryly. “For 
he goes, too. There must he time for all this 
scandal of the fight to die down and he for¬ 
gotten before he comes again to New York. 
And I have business matters in London that 
he can care for in my place, when he reads 
the letters of instruction he will find aboard 
the ship.” 

Irving’s slap upon his hack, Brevoort’s 
swift grasp of his hand, brought Larry, 
stunned by Astor’s words, to his senses. 

“Pat!” he cried. “To go together! Mr. 
Astor—I’ll be grateful to you as long as I 
Jive!” 

But Astor, with a great show of firmness, 
waved him off. Pat, though, was no longer 
to be deceived. She rushed at Astor sud- 


306 LITTLE OLD NEW YORK 

denly, threw her arms about his neck, and 
kissed him. 

“You’re the best man in the wide world!” 
she said. 

“Faith, and he’s the wisest, too,”- said old 
Reilley, with a chuckle. “For he has put 
a minister aboard that ship, who’s waiting, 
just in case he should be needed for a—i 
christening, or some such matter—” 

Pat’s cheeks flamed. But Larry, his 
head high, went to her, and whispered to 
her, his lips close to her ear. And then, 
tenderly and gravely, quite heedless of the 
others, he bent and kissed her. 

“Time enough for that!” said Reilley, 
abruptly, with the privilege of his years of 

service. “We must be getting aboard while 
there’s still time.” 

And, ruthlessly, he interrupted Larry’s 
lovemaking. Brevoort and Irving helped 
with the bags and boxes; Reilley, it seemed, 
acting under As tor’s orders, had already 



LITTLE OLD NEW; YORK 307 


packed Larry’s things and taken them to 
the ship. 

So, on the deck, with Irving for best man, 
and Brevoort and Reilley, Astor and Hal- 
leek, for witnesses, Larry and Pat were 
married, and, as the sun sank down into the; 
sea, looked back to see little old New York 
fading upon the western horizon behind 
them. 


THE END 


* 


Jf 


JAMES OLIVER CURWOOD’S 

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Thrilling adventures in the Far Northland. 

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The story of a bear-cub and a dog. 

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C r _ __ 

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A love story of rare charm. It deals with a successful 
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No one but the creator of Penrod could have portrayed 
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PENROD. Illustrated by Gordon Grant. 

- This is a picture of a boy’s heart, full of the lovable, hu¬ 
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Like " Penrod ” and “ Seventeen,” this book contains 
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Bibbs Sheridan is a dreamy, imaginative youth, who re¬ 
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A story of love and politics,—more especially a picture of 
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The “ Flirt,” the younger of two sisters, breaks one girl’s 
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THE MAN OF THE FOREST ^ 

THE DESERT OF WHEAT* 

THE U. P. TRAIL 
WILDFIRE 

THE BORDER LEGION 3 ' 

.---a 

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THE HERITAGE OF THE DESERT 
RIDERS OF THE PURPLE SAGE 
THE LIGHT OF WESTERN STARS 
THE LAST OF THE PLAINSMEN 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
DESERT GOLD 
BETTY ZANE 

[•**••[• ^ 

LAST OF THE GREAT SCOUTS 

The life story of "Buffalo Bill" by his sister Helen Cody 
Wetmore, with Foreword and conclusion by Zane Grey. 

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KEN WARD IN THE JUNGLE ] 

THE YOUNG LION HUNTER 
THE YOUNG FORESTER 
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: THE SHORT STOP 

THE kED-HEADED OUTFIELD AND OTHER 
BASEBALL STORIES 

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Michael is a quick-witted little Irish newsboy, living in Northern 
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LADDIE. Illustrated by Herman Pfeifer. 

This is a bright, cheery tale with the scenes laid in Indiana. Tho 
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“The Harvester,” is a man of the woods and fields, and if thO’ 
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FRECKLES . Illustrated. 

Freckles is a nameless waif when the tale opens, but the way in 
which he takes hold of life ; the nature friendships he forms in the 
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The story of a girl of the Michigan woods; a buoyant, loveable 
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AT THE FOOT OF THE RAINBOW. Illustrations in colors. 

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POOR, DEAR, MARGARET KIRBY. 

Frontispiece by George Gibbs. 

A collection of delightful stories, including * * * Bridging the 
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MARTIE, THE UNCONQUERED. 

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Frontispiece by Charles E. Chambers. 

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THE LAMP IN THE DESERT ( 

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GREATHEART 

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Talcs of love and of women who learned to know th* 
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